


The Warlock Prince

by DracotheDeathEatingCupcake



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur is his (Unwilling) Servant, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Like You’d think I’m a Psychologist Or Something, Lots and Lots of Introspection., M/M, Merlin is the Prince of Camelot, Minor Character Death, Morally Dubious Balinor, Mutual Pining, Partial Series Rewrite, Prince!Merlin, Servant!Arthur, Slow Burn, light humor, mentions of homophobia.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 378,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24098596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracotheDeathEatingCupcake/pseuds/DracotheDeathEatingCupcake
Summary: It wasn’t fair. Arthur was only supposed to be in Camelot for one week. A single week, while he solicited more grain for his starving village. That was it.Instead, he managed to somehow save the life of a prattish prince and was now bound by the king to serve him.And what was with the dragon in the dungeon, calling him the “Once and Future King?”Life, most definitely, wasn’t fair.
Relationships: Arthur Pendragon/Gwaine (unrequited), Freya & Merlin (Merlin), Freya/Morgana (Merlin), Gaius & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Ygraine de Bois/Uther Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 214
Kudos: 312





	1. And So, Our Story Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! So, I decided to revise my previous note, as it got… way too long. 
> 
> Anyway! Hi! So, this is my first story that I’ve written in a year and it’s… well, a beast. I started writing on April 1st, 2020, stopped writing May 9th, 2020, and it has over 365,000 words. Which is… a lot. And most of it is repetition, as I don’t know how NOT to do that, so… sorry. I wrote for so fast for so long that I barely had time to reread my work, and now that I am, I’m… I don’t know. Disenchanted. I’ll post this story, and I hope y’all like it, but it’s not the best written story in the world. Eh. I tried. I have no aims to be a professional writer, just a school psychologist if I can, and I write for fun more than anything. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you like!
> 
> Obligatory 'I own nothing, these characters belong to ancient Arthurian legend, I just borrow part of the plot and characterization from the BBC adaptation of the story.' Does this even matter anymore? Who knows. The rituals of Ye Olde Fanfic writers are intricate.

Arthur sighed as he wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting up at the harsh sunlight. He looked down at the plow that was before him and suppressed another sigh as he realized how much work he still had left to do. Squaring his shoulders, he went back to his plowing, ignoring the dull pain radiating from his back. He had to finish this whole row by sundown or else him and his mother would pay for it. That much, he knew.

Part of him seethed at the unfairness of it all. Having to work in the fields in this blistering heat, no relief from the unrelenting sun, while those with power just stood and watched. He hated it, hated it with every fiber of his being. But what could he, a lowly farm boy, do? And so, he seethed, but he plowed on. Because what other choice was there?

As he sat in front of the fire later that night, though, back aching and red with burns from the harsh sun, he let his hatred flow through his veins. His mother wouldn't want him to hate this way, she'd scold him if she knew. But she didn't, couldn't, so he gave himself this moment of resentment. It was all he could do, after all, in resistance to King Balinor, the Powerful (as he called himself, that bastard). The man may have his, very forced, servitude, but he'd never have his full compliance. He refused. He was too proud for that.

( _Just like his father,_ a voice whispered in his head. He mercilessly pushed that voice down. After all, he’d never known his father. King Balinor saw to that.)

The soft sound of footsteps caused him to look up, catching his mother's concerned and loving gaze. Despite his dark thoughts and emotions, Arthur smiled weakly up at her. No need to needlessly concern her, after all.

"You're in pain, my love," Ygraine softly spoke, reaching out and running a hand through her son's hair. Arthur grimaced lightly as he rotated his shoulders, but he quickly shrugged it off.

"Don't worry, mother. I'll be fine. You should go to bed, you have a long day tomorrow,” Arthur replied, catching his mother's hand, and placing a gentle kiss of the back of it. She had an hour’s walk to the village next over for her shift as a tavern cook. She needed rest, not to be kept up, worrying for him. No matter what, Arthur would always love and care for his mother. His pain didn't matter as long as she was happy.

He felt her heave a small sigh before getting up and walking over to her small mattress on the ground. They didn't have the money for a full bed, but at least they had their mattresses. It was better than sleeping on coarse hay or the ground, at least. And, on nights when it grew colder, it was nice to sleep before the fire, rather than upstairs. It was cruel of this summer, to have blazing days but chilly nights.

"Very well, my love. But please try and get some sleep soon. You, too, have a long day ahead of you and I'd hate to see you fall ill from exhaustion."

Arthur gave his mother a reassuring smile, watching over her as she succumbed to sleep, that worried line on her face finally smoothing out.

He hated this. He wished things were different, that he'd somehow find a way to make this all better. That he could find a way to destroy the king's reign and make it so non-magic users weren't treated as secondhand citizens. But it was just a wish, nothing that could ever come true. And as he laid down to sleep that night, trying to ignore the throb in his shoulders and upper back, he felt a small feeling of helplessness run through him, as he did every night since he was a child and had to watch his mother slave for hours over a hot stove as cruel men shouted disgusting things at her.

This was how things were. Nothing would ever change this. Arthur tried not to cry as he finally fell asleep.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

He didn't understand why he had to come to these stupid meetings. They always just ended after hours of boredom on his part, seeing as how he wasn't allowed to do anything, not yet. Merlin tried to hide his yawn behind his hand, but he could tell his father had caught it, judging by his disapproving frown. Merlin stood up straighter at the King's attention, not wanting to seem rude or uncaring, and began trying his hardest to pay attention to whatever the sorcerer in front of them was saying.

Something about a rebellion in one of the outlying villages. The non-magic peasants had apparently attacked their town's sorcerers, beating them with sticks and stones, shouting how they refused to be treated like subpar creatures anymore. Merlin had to stop himself before he rolled his eyes. This was the third rebellion this month, when would they realize it never got anything done? It would just make his father angrier.

Case in point, he watched with distant eyes as his father, King Balinor, scowled and ordered the men of the village to be put into one of their reform camps, while the woman and children were put into the fields for good use. Merlin kept his tongue to himself as the sorcerer bowed and left, setting out to do as his king ordered. He felt himself start to shake but ignored it. Like he always did.

"Merlin, come here,” he heard his father demand, after the council was over, beckoning him closer with a hand.

"Yes, Father?" Merlin questioned, eyebrows raised slightly. He controlled his face, expression a blank mask. Balinor stared at him for a second before shaking his head.

"We have heard news of a griffin attacking some of the villages. I want you to ride out there and kill it. Alright?" His father asked, frown on his lips. Merlin nodded once and turned quickly to leave, his pace brisk and controlled. He couldn’t control the distress on his face completely, but he hoped he had done well enough. Right as he was about to exit, however, he heard his father call out his name.

"Merlin."

Merlin turned back to face his father and king. His father was staring at him intently. Damn it.

"You must understand why I do what I do. If I let these rebellions continue, they will destroy everything we have striven so hard to create. I don't like punishing them anymore than you do, but still, I must do it. And one day, so will you. The fate of Camelot herself depends on it. Do you understand?" Balinor implored, searching his son's eyes for the answer to his question. Merlin hesitated for only a second, before nodding once again. His father nodded back, dismissing Merlin, allowing him to leave in peace.

To be honest, Merlin _didn't_ understand, not really. He understood, of course, why they had to keep the non-magical people at bay. Otherwise, they would rise up and try and destroy his kind. They hated his kind, after all. However, what Merlin didn't understand was why they had to keep non-magical people in poverty. Why only a select few were allowed to have rank in the castle, why even the richest were treated with scorn and disdain. Couldn't they just set the rules and let everyone live equally? Surely the non-magic users would understand that his father was the ruler and that they had to listen to him?

But he wasn't the one in charge. His father was, and that's how it would be for a long time to come, hopefully. Maybe one day, when he was king, things would change. But until then, he had to do as his king ordered.

The next morning Merlin set out for the surrounding villages, finding and killing the griffin in no time, ignoring the way his stomach churned as he passed by the faces of poverty-stricken peasants.

This was the way things were. Nothing would change that. And as he fell asleep that night, Merlin tried to get the faces of crying, hungry children out of his mind.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

"I don't see why I have to be the one to go,” Arthur grumbled under his breath, ignoring the disapproving stare from his mother.

"Because, Arthur, you're the only one who's strong enough and the only one who owns a sword," Ygraine replied chidingly, adding another shirt to the bag Arthur was expected to carry all the way from his village to Camelot. He eyed it with mild trepidation.

"But what about the crops? Who will tend to them while I'm gone?" Arthur questioned, eyebrows raised. His mother shook her head and tsked.

"Stop worrying over such things. I've asked young Ewan to look after them for you. Now, quit stalling. You need to leave soon, so you can make it to the city by week’s end. Remember to hand the invoice to the castle's solicitor only, so that we may petition for more grain for the following year. Speak to no one else and keep your head low. Do not attract any unwanted attention upon yourself, you hear me?" Ygraine fretted, her hands reaching for Arthur's shoulders and grasping them gently as she looked into her son's eyes, her own soft and filled with love and sorrow. Arthur put his hands over hers, gazing down at his mother steadily. "Be safe, my love," she whispered, pulling him into a tight hug which he reciprocated.

He gave her a quick grin as he pulled back, moving over to the pack, and hefting it up onto his back. It was still sore from the hours of hard labor, but he refused to even wince. He wouldn’t make his mother worry more than she already did.

"Do not fret, mother. I'll be back before you know it. Safe and sound,” Arthur assured before heading for the door. He stopped briefly at the doorway, hesitating for only a moment before setting out.

He looked around as he exited his small village, trying to remember which way to go. The problem with seeing the world only through maps is that maps were hardly a reliable source for what one would actually encounter on a trip.

Part of Arthur really didn't want to go if he was being honest. Camelot was no friend to his kind. However, his village was depending on him. If he didn't get their petition for more grain and seed for the next year's harvest to Camelot, they might not be able to make enough to survive, especially with the taxes the king was implementing. It was that thought that had Arthur taking a left, walking the beaten path to what could possibly be his doom.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Camelot was a lot bigger than anyplace he had ever been. Not that that was saying much, since Arthur hadn't left the areas around his village since he was very young, but still. It made him feel uneasy, all these people milling around. Most of them would have powers of some kind, Arthur knew. It made his stomach roll to think about it.

He hefted his bag higher on his back, setting out quickly for the castle. He passed by some guards dressed in deep blue tunics, holding long and intricate staffs in their hands, some kind of bird on their capes. The king’s crest, Arthur knew. Arthur tried not to hiss at the sight of them.

As he entered the courtyard, he could see a large congregation of people standing in the square. They appeared to be standing around something, talking excitedly. Curious, Arthur wandered over to see what was happening. He knew his mother would be upset if she knew he had diverted from their original plan, but something told him that this was important. That he needed to watch this.

There, in the middle of the group, was an executioner’s block. Arthur only knew it from pictures and descriptions in books. A lump of dread started to fill his belly. He suddenly knew what was about to happen and wanted to be anywhere but there. But he felt stuck, trapped in some sick sort of fear and morbid curiosity.

He watched with trepidation as a man was led up to the block, trembling with fear. He looked young, to Arthur's eyes. Not all that much older than Arthur, himself, was. He could barely hear as someone- _the King_ , a voice whispered in his mind- listed the man's crimes. Something about stealing some bread while possessing a sword. It shouldn't have been an execution worthy offense, but ever since King Balinor outlawed armed swordplay years ago, except for in self-defense, using a sword could very well get you killed. Even having one while committing a crime was a grave offense, even if the blade was never used. Arthur shifted the sword he kept by his side, trying to make it as unnoticeable as possible. He allowed to have it, yes, but one could never be too careful.

Time slowed down for him as he watched the man step up to the block, kneeling on trembling knees. The executioner lifted his axe high in the air, and for a second everything was frozen. Then, swift as a river, the ax went down, and Arthur had to look away lest he be sick. He had seen death before, but never so much blood. Suddenly, he heard a scream echo across the courtyard, heartbroken and desolate. Arthur shuddered at the raw pain he heard in that scream.

"My son! You killed my only son!" He could hear an aged, feminine voice cry. He turned to face the sound and saw an old woman, her arms clinging around her waist. She looked so pitiful that Arthur immediately wanted to go to her and console her. He watched with saddened eyes as a group of sorcerers led the woman away, dragging her from the scene. She never stopped screaming, her eyes glaring daggers at the king. He couldn’t hear her words after that, but he felt her sorrow deep in his bones. He would never forget this day. Never.

Arthur then looked up, at the place he knew the King would be. He saw the man he could only assume to be Balinor, staring with uncaring eyes at the boy's headless body as it got carried away. Arthur had to clench his hands in order to contain the hatred that suddenly flowed through his veins. How could anyone feel nothing at the sight of the body of a dead boy? How could they sentence a person to death for only trying to feed their family?

Clamping down on his hatred and anger, Arthur moved swiftly away from the crowd, into the castle itself. The king was saying words, how it had been necessary, the good of the kingdom, blah blah blah. He didn’t care. He had a reason for being here, after all, and it was best not to dawdle. He’d tarried too long already. The sight of a headless boy and distressed mother fresh in his mind, Arthur set off. Anger did nothing for him here.

It took him a while to find the place he had to go. The castle was huge, with many twisting hallways and open corridors. Honestly, Arthur wasn't even sure he was meant to be in here, but he didn't know where else to go. It was only when a servant took pity on him and pointed him in the right direction that he found where it was that he needed to go.

Once at the solicitor's office, however, he was met with a problem.

"What do you mean it will take a week before the solicitor is available to meet with me?" Arthur shouted, his anger rising as he stared at the small sorceress in front of him. The woman just gave him an unimpressed stare before going back to whatever it was that she had been reading before he had entered the room.

"I meant just what I said, boy. The solicitor is a busy man and will not be available for a week. You can make an appointment now if you wish. Otherwise, would you mind leaving? I do have work that needs to be done,” the sorceress snapped impatiently as she read her documents. He wasn’t even important enough to warrant her looking up at him. Arthur had to count backwards from ten in order to control his rage.

"Make me an appointment, then,” Arthur gritted out, glaring daggers at the woman. She waved her hand lazily and Arthur watched as a piece of paper flew into it, words appearing a second later. She hadn’t even asked his name, he thought tastelessly, just referred to him as ‘case number 203.’ She handed it over to him, as he tried to ignore the churning in his stomach. He hated magic, he really, really did.

The paper said that he was to come back in exactly a week, at noon. Arthur sighed, but had a feeling this was the best he was going to get. Feeling tired and hungry, Arthur went out into the city, wondering where exactly he would be staying for the next week.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

"Merlin! Pay attention!"

Merlin's head snapped up instantly, eyes wide as he took in his father's annoyed expression. Merlin grimaced, before bowing his head in chagrin.

"Sorry, father," he mumbled, still looking at his shoes. He looked up only when he heard his father sigh in exasperation.

Merlin spent the rest of the council meeting trying his hardest to pay attention to whatever problem was brought up, but it was difficult. He truly hated these meetings. When the meeting was finally, finally adjourned for the day, he got up immediately, not waiting to see if his father wanted to speak with him. He needed to get out of the castle before he went mad.

Merlin flitted passed the servants that passed him by, barely sparing them a glance. Most were magicless anyway, hardly worth the attention of a Prince. Or so he was told. He exited the castle, exhaling deeply as he walked through the courtyard, trying, and failing, to forget the sound of that woman's scream. He hated the executions, yet his father always made him watch, even if he had to stand far enough back that no one could see the pain on his face. He wished he didn’t have to go.

Merlin passed the courtyard quickly and soon was in the lower town. He could feel some of the tension in his shoulders fade as he walked the familiar streets. Here, things were good. Here, there was nothing to worry about. No council meetings, no orders from his father. No starving peasants being executed in the middle of the courtyard, presented almost like a spectator sport. Merlin shivered as that thought passed through his head, speeding up to try and outrun his thoughts.

Running blindly in a crowded city was never a good idea, though. A fact Merlin learned the hard way, when he ran headfirst into a very solid, very hard body.

“Oi! Watch where you’re going, you pillock!” A voice shouted from in front of him. Or, above him, Merlin realized, having found himself suddenly on the ground. That’s what he got for having his head in the clouds, he supposed.

Merlin had a retort fresh on his lips, annoyance filling him. He was a prince! How dare this person call him names, especially after knocking him down? He was all ready to let his vitriol loose, when he looked up and found his breath stolen from his lips.

In place of a dirty peasant, like he had expected, he saw the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Hair like spun gold, eyes like a mountain spring, the man ( _no, boy_ , Merlin heard a voice within him whisper, _he’s no more than a boy_ ) towered high above him, an arrogant look on his oddly aristocratic face. He clearly was a peasant, though, if his simple clothing was anything to go by. The way he looked, though, it was almost as if he was the prince and Merlin the lowly peasant, unfit to even walk the same ground as such a magnificent creature.

Yet... that was wrong. _Merlin_ was the prince, not this insolent welp. And it was then that the words the man ( _boy_ ) spoke caught up to him, causing him to flush bright red in anger.

“Excuse me?! Who on earth are you calling a pillock, you... you... clotpole!”

Merlin almost immediately winced, his words as inelegant as the peasant he had almost likened himself as. Realizing once more that he was splayed ungracefully on the ground, he quickly scrambled to stand, not allowing this peasant to be higher than him. He felt his anger rise, magic simmering under his skin as the peasant smirked, twisting his angelic face into something cruel.

“Clotpole? Come now, did I hit you so hard your brains ceased to work? Or are you always so stupid?”

Oh! Oh! Merlin felt his temper soar at this... this insolence! How dare he?! He was the prince! Who was this boy to insult him so? Magic simmering under his skin, tingling his hands, Merlin felt his face twist with rage as he snarled at the insolent peasant.

“You can’t say that to me,” Merlin warned, eyes flashing gold for only one moment. But that one moment was enough to let the boy in front of him see, to see the power he held. Merlin highly doubted this boy was a sorcerer. He looked too... well, not weak, Merlin grudgingly admitted, eyes roving the hard muscles he’d briefly felt slam into his fairer frame. But he didn’t have the look of a magician, let alone a sorcerer.

It was a fact that was proven when the boy took a harsh inhale and took a half step backwards, a look of mild fear on his face. Merlin smirked at the reaction, satisfied that he’d gotten his point across. He had almost turned around to leave, the guards stationed near the stalls looking at the peasant warily, but before he could he saw the boy steel his expression and step forward, so close Merlin could almost feel his heat. He tried not to shudder, a shiver passing through him despite the warmth.

“And why not? Hm? You think your magic makes you so special, huh? Well, you’re not. Magic means nothing, not if your head is as empty as yours,” the peasant hissed, eyes slits, voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. And a hint of fear, Merlin noticed, though the boy was good at hiding it. Despite himself, Merlin was impressed. Not many were willing to be so insolent to a sorcerer, let alone a prince, and it was... brave. Stupid, but brave. Merlin could give him that.

However, even in spite of the mild admiration, he was still the prince. And, brave or not, the boy was challenging him in his own city, eyes of the other peasants wide as they stared at the two. He couldn’t let such behavior lie. Not when the world was watching.

And so, even though it chilled him, Merlin forced a dark grin on his face, eyes dark as his magic flowed through him. He knew they had turned gold by the flash of fear the boy before him had on his face before he steeled it once more, into arrogant disinterest.

“I could have your head for that, you know?” Merlin questioned, voice soft and silky, making his stomach churn. He hated this part of himself. Hated how false he was in these moments. Hated it; but he could do nothing against it. How could he? He was the prince. He had to be strong. His father told him this often. His soft-hearted ways would just doom them if he let them take over.

The boy sneered at him, face filled with disgust and anger, battling with the suppressed fear and uncertainty. Obviously, the boy knew how foolish he was being. But, despite that, the boy did not back down. He just set his ( _utterly gorgeous_ , his mind supplied) jaw and looked at Merlin with eyes hard as steel. The bright blue reminded Merlin of a raging ocean, beautiful but oh so deadly. He tried not to shudder at the wave of heat that hit him.

The boy’s right hand twitched at his side, making Merlin suddenly aware of the blade he had sitting there. And then, unexpectedly, Merlin was afraid. Not for his life, heavens no. Merlin had nothing to fear from a starving peasant (and he was starving, Merlin noticed blandly, despite the muscles that filled the boy’s frame). No. Merlin suddenly feared for the boy. After all, swordplay was outlawed. And he doubted his father would spare this boy’s life, even if Merlin begged and begged. And Merlin, despite everything, desperately didn’t want this boy to die. He didn’t know why, especially since the boy was glaring at him like he was everything wrong with the world (and maybe he was, he thought, a touch hysterically), but he didn’t want him to die. He knew that, clear as day. He had to end this.

“Oh yeah? And why is that? You’re not the king,” the boy hissed, jarring Merlin from his thoughts. Oh, he realized suddenly. The boy didn’t know who he was. Made sense, Merlin supposed, as he often didn’t wear his crown, hating how it felt on his head. The boy must be from an outlying village, Merlin figured, eyes widened only a fraction. Obviously, since Merlin was certain he’d never seen this boy before. He’d have remembered a face like his.

And so, with almost a sick glee despite the nausea that was rising, Merlin allowed himself to smile slowly, cruelly, as his magic gathered around him, making the air crackle with energy. The peasants on the street all gasped and backed away, well aware of their prince’s power. He wasn’t considered the best warlock for nothing, after all. It was almost worth it to see the boy’s impudent look melt off his face, naked fear filling his (too beautiful for words) eyes. The boy tried to hide it, but Merlin saw.

“No, I’m his son.”

And with that, Merlin let his magic lash out, the power singing through his veins as the boy was blasted back, hitting the stall at the end of the street. Before the magic hit him, though, a look of such raw panic and fear had passed his face that Merlin was instantly regretful. He struggled to keep it under wraps, smirking at the peasants who surrounded him, a small scatter of applause making its way through the crowd. Merlin was content to just walk away and let the boy handle himself when he heard the sound. It was like... a grunt of pain.

Blood cold, Merlin turned to the boy and saw the blood pooling under him. It wasn’t much, but it made his stomach churn. He hadn’t meant to hurt the boy. Only push him away, scare him a bit. But Merlin had underestimated his power, like usual. And now the boy was lying still, too still on the ground, no one daring to approach him for fear of their prince’s wrath.

And suddenly, Merlin felt white hot shame fill him. He was a prince. He shouldn’t have let his emotions control him like that. He shouldn’t have...

With a controlled expression, Merlin sauntered to the boy, hiding the guilt that rose in him as he saw the still body. He held his breath until he saw the rise and fall of the peasant’s chest, releasing the breath like it burned him. Just knocked out, then. Not dead. Not wanting to look weak or concerned, Merlin turned a supposedly uncaring eye onto the guards that had cautiously approached the pair. Pushing down his regret and unease, Merlin smiled casually and nodded to the boy.

“Have him sent to Gaius, to make sure he’s alright. Then put him in the stocks for an hour. Maybe that will temper his tongue.”

With that, Merlin swept off, trying to appear as if he didn’t care if the guards listened or not. It shouldn’t. It was no longer his problem, after all..

And if Merlin couldn’t get the bright blue eyes, steady as the ocean and hard as steel out of his mind, well. No one would know but him.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Arthur let out a soft groan as he came to, his head aching and his back on fire. He hissed as he tried to sit up, head swimming and fuzzy.

“Ah, ah, ah, stay down my boy. You had quite a hit to your head, so you shouldn’t be moving around too much,” a kind, elderly voice said, gentle hands pressing softly to his shoulders. “The prince doesn’t know his own strength sometimes, I’m afraid.”

Arthur was instantly awake, jolting upwards, eyes snapping to the (seemingly) kindly old man, who only held his hands up in a sign of peace. Arthur immediately regretted his decision as his head swam, eyes blurring as he groaned at the pain. The older man clucked his tongue softly, shaking his head. Or, Arthur thought he shook his head. It might just have been the world that was moving, everything blurry and wobbly.

His memory was fuzzy, but he tried to recall how he had come to this place. He recalled the meeting with that rude sorceress, the piece of paper that he had clutched in his fists as he stormed through the city, trying to find someone who needed a job done so he could get a roof over his head, or at least some food. After that, though... he focused as he tried to recall, bits and pieces coming back to him. Something about walking through the lower town, minding his own business, when someone ran into him. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to startle. Someone…

It was then that he remembered the boy at the market. Arthur felt his heart freeze, before his blood began to boil, his rage and anger blocking out the pain.

How dare he?! How fucking dare he?! He attacked him! Unprompted! (Well, not unprompted, but still!)

Oh, Arthur always knew sorcerers were no good. And that boy was no different. Even if his dark brown hair and bright blue eyes and overly large ears made Arthur’s stomach flutter, even as the dreaded gold overtook the ocean blues. He shook his head to clear them of the thoughts, only to regret it a moment later as he hissed in pain, his headache making itself painfully clear.

He heard the older man cluck again, as he walked away to grab something on the counter. The words the man had said caught up to him, then, as he stared faintly at the man’s back, his blood running cold with sudden fear.

“Did you say... prince?” Arthur questioned hesitantly, mouth dry and gritty. Oh, shit.

The elderly man just clucked again, shaking his head in what seemed to be disapproval. The withering glare he got confirmed that.

“I hear it was some spectacle. You, insulting his royal highness in front of the whole city to see. I can’t tell if you’re incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid. Perhaps both.”

Arthur felt a scowl rise on his face unbidden, setting his jaw as he turned away from the older man, whose eyes, despite his harsh words, seemed to dance with mirth. Oh sure. Laugh it up. Arthur was an idiot, he knew that much. His mother always said his temper would get the best of him one day. Well, it seemed this was that day.

With a sigh, the older man stepped closer, a bottle of... something in his hand. He shoved it into Arthur’s hand, causing him to wince in pain. Arthur hesitatingly lifted the bottle to his nose and gagged at the foul scent.

“Gods, are you trying to kill me?! What is that?!” Arthur demanded, shoving the bottle away. The older man just rolled his eyes and handed it back.

“It’s a potion, designed to help with your headache. It is not poison, I promise you that. It tastes awful, but if you drink it quick you might not notice.”

With that, the older man swept away, over to a table nearby, shuffling through the papers there. Scowling at the dismissal, Arthur looked skeptically at the bottle.

On one hand, it could be deadly poison, designed to punish him for his insolent ways. On the other, he thought with a wince, it may make his head stop pounding for a minute so that he could think through his options and find a way to talk his way out of this. Either way, he figured, the headache _would_ technically be gone, so...

Against his better judgement, Arthur quickly downed the potion, trying not to gag as he did so, the foul stuff thick in his throat.

“Oh, god! That’s horrible! I think you are trying to kill me,” Arthur exclaimed, fighting the urge to vomit all over the clean bed. The older man just chuckled, eyes now bright with mirth as he turned to face Arthur, a wry smile on his lips. Arthur just scowled back, trying to be more threatening than he felt, hunched over his bed trying not to spew. He obviously failed, as the older man just clucked again, a chuckle following the sound. Arthur was starting to think the man may have actually been a chicken, all the clucking he did.

Despite the foul taste in his mouth, his head _was_ starting to feel better... a lot better, in fact. He nearly sighed in relief as the pounding ceased, the world no longer violently swirling around him. He suppressed the sound, though, not wanting to give the other man the satisfaction. He watched, warily, as the older man walked slowly towards him, hand out to grab the bottle. Arthur scowled, but handed the damned this over. After all, it’s not like he had any use for it.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Now, care to tell me your name, young man? I can hardly call you clotpole, like the young prince, now can I?”

The words were dry, but the humor shone in the older man’s eyes. He was clearly highly amused. Arthur just let his scowl deepen, hands clenched on his lap as he looked away, eyes hard. Clotpole. Ha! Prince or not, the brown-haired boy certainly was an idiot.

A minute passed in silence as the older man watched him, but Arthur refused to break. Another sigh sounded, before the older man moved away, head shaking in disappointment. Arthur felt his stomach clench, for god knew what reason. Letting out a grunt, he crossed his arms and stared resolutely at his blanket covered lap. A moment passed before he begrudgingly spoke.

“Arthur. My name is Arthur,” he muttered, eyes downcast. The other man hummed, his shadow casting over the bed as he moved closer again.

“Well, was that so hard? My name is Gaius, and I am the court physician in Camelot. Now, is there a family name, or are you just Arthur?”

Arthur thought about being petulant and rude but decided against it. Despite the foul potion and damned amusement, the man, named Gaius apparently, had done nothing to him. Nothing bad, at least. So, he sighed again and looked up, directly into the physician’s eyes, a shot of satisfaction filling him at the surprise that filled Gaius’s eyes at his daring.

“Pendragon. My name is Arthur Pendragon.”

There was a time that name would have commanded respect, he knew. The Pendragons had once been a proud Noble family, richer than the rich, envied by all. Now? Now, he was a poor farm boy, barely making ends meet, happy at the small luxury a stupid mattress provided. He couldn’t even afford a fucking horse, for God’s sake! How the mighty have fallen.

And yet... and yet, as he looked in the physician’s eyes, he saw a hint of recognition fill them, the eyes widening before a soft smile lighted his face.

“Ah, the young Pendragon! You must be Ygraine’s boy, yes?”

Arthur was instantly on edge, eyes hard as his body tensed, poised for a fight. He scowled at Gaius, throwing the blanket off as he made to stand. A wave of dizziness hit him before he could, forcing him to sit down hard on the mattress. Gaius clucked again, shaking his head at his foolishness.

“How do you know my mother,” Arthur hissed, trying to ignore the throb that had returned to his head. Luckily, it stopped a few seconds later, the potion still taking effect. Gaius just raised his eyebrow, giving Arthur a very unimpressed look. It made him feel like a naughty child, stealing cookies from the baker. Which was certainly nothing he had ever done, no sirree!

“I got a letter from her a few days ago, mentioning you’d be in the city, with a grain and seed request for the king. She asked that I keep an eye out for you, keep you out of trouble. I see I’ve already failed at that,” he intoned, head shaking as a soft smile graced his lips. Arthur paused at that, eyeing the relative stranger.

“... how do you know my mother,” Arthur repeated, voice softer, calmer. He couldn’t tell if the man was lying or not. He had an excellent poker face. Then again, if he was a sorcerer, then he must be lying. All sorcerers lied, after all.

“Oh, Ygraine and I go way back. I knew her quite well, once. But that’s a topic for another time. Tell me, what were you doing in the town square? Shouldn’t you have been here in the castle, with the solicitor? Striking a deal for more grain for your village come spring? That is why you’re here, is it not?”

Arthur hated how the man spoke, like he was a dunce who had failed at even the simplest of tasks. Putting away the topic of how this stranger knew him, Arthur scowled again, ignoring the voice of his mother saying his face would stick like that if he didn’t stop scowling.

“I did! And all I got was this stupid paper saying that I had to wait a godforsaken _week_ before I could even meet with the solicitor, let alone strike a deal!”

It was beyond frustrating. He had hoped he’d be in and out of the city in no time flat, home before he even knew it. Now he was stuck, for a whole week, in this damned city full of magicians and sorcerers alike. The gods must hate him, he thought bitterly.

Gaius just hummed, like he had said something very interesting for once. Arthur rolled his eyes in response, scowl still on his face. He was starting to greatly dislike this man.

“Ah, yes. Cerdan has been exceptionally busy this week, what with his son’s illness and the rebellions. Still, it’s not a safe place for you, in the city. Non-magic folk have been nearly eradicated from the city proper, outside of the servants. You’re not likely to find much help there.”

“Yeah, but I still needed somewhere to, I don’t know, sleep?! I was hoping to find some work, but clearly, there is none. So, I guess I’ll camp outside the castle for a week, while I wait for this stupid solicitor to find time in his stupid schedule for this stupid meeting.”

Arthur huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms with, what he would deny until his death as a pout, on his lips. Gaius just laughed, seemingly finding more amusement at Arthur’s predicament. Anger filled him, but before he could let it loose and ruin everything, Gaius shook his head, holding up his hand.

“Ah, I apologize. I’m not laughing at you, I promise. I was merely thinking it good fortune that my last apprentice has left so suddenly, leaving me an open room. Of course, I can’t just let you stay for free, so once your injuries heal I’ll be expecting you to help with my deliveries and gathering herbs, but it will be a warm room with food in your belly until you decide to leave. Now, I have some potions to deliver, so I’ll leave you alone to mull it over. Either way, you should rest until I get back. The potion will numb your pain as the healing takes place, but you won’t be raring to go for at least another day or two. So please, stay here and rest,” Gaius stressed, before walking back to the table he had been at earlier and grabbing a few bottles. With a sweep of his robes, the older man left the room, the door fluttering shut behind him, with nary a backwards glance. Very trusting, wasn’t he?

Finding himself suddenly alone, Arthur let out a soft sigh, sinking down onto the slightly uncomfortable mattress. Biting his lip, he stared at the ceiling.

It was a good offer. A great one, actually. He could stay here, in the castle, closer to the solicitor. He’d be fed, too, if Gaius were to be believed. It was honestly too good to be true. Literally.

But... what other choice did he have? He didn’t fancy sleeping outdoors, the rocks and twigs poking his back harshly. Plus, it was getting colder, the summer an abnormally chilly one. And the rooms here did seem quite nice- warm and cozy in a way that reminded him of home. Of his mother’s cooking, which was the best in the world, he was sure. And Gaius, for all his mirth and wry humor, seemed a good man. The jury was still out on if he were a sorcerer or not, but Arthur would bet on it. After all, the man had said that almost all non-magic folk were out of the city, save the servants. Gaius, he could see, clearly wasn’t a servant.

And, he noticed with a wince, his back was hurting something fierce. He lifted his hands and felt a bandage around his stomach, making him realize that it wasn’t just his head that had been hurt.

With another sigh, Arthur leaned back against the hard bed, eyes closing with exhaustion. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until his eyes slipped shut, his mind drifting as fog overtook him. He would think more on the topic later. After a quick nap. Too much had happened all at once. He just needed some rest.

His last thought before succumbing to sleep was of bright blue eyes shifting to gold, a mischievous smile on a devilish face.

God, he hoped he never saw that, that _prat_ again.

(God, he hoped he did.)

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

It had been three hours, and Merlin could not get that idiot out of his mind. The way he had spoken. His vivid blue eyes. His golden hair. His pink, shiny li-

Aaaand that was enough of that, thanks ever so!

Merlin groaned as he hit his head against the wall, eyes pinched tight with anger. And exhaustion. It had been a long, trying day. He still couldn’t forget that mother’s screams. He wondered if his mother would have screamed for him, had he been in that boy’s place. If his mother hadn’t been killed by merciless knights, hours after his birth, seeking revenge for his father’s supposedly unjust laws. If he’d ever had the chance to meet the woman his father barely spoke of, but that he, apparently, took after.

Great. This line of thinking was not good, either. Perfect.

Merlin groaned once more and flopped onto his belly, a petulant frown on his lips (frown, he thought, not a pout. Prince’s didn’t pout.)

Unbidden, the boy in the market came to mind again, his steely eyes haunting Merlin, taunting him with everything he wanted yet could never have.

Merlin has always known he was different. Not just because he had more power in his pinky than most men would have in their entire lives, no. But because his eyes lingered too often onto the built forms of men, not just the dainty forms of women. Because he all too often had to tear his eyes away from the Castle Mages he trained as they practiced outside, arms fluid and languid as they bent nature to their wills. Because he often wondered what it would be like to be pressed against a wall, a hard, toned body against him, hands pressing down, down, down, his breath ragged, his eyes clouded as steely blue eyes stared him deep in his soul, judging him for all his crimes, finding him wanting, wanting, wanting-

Fuck!

Merlin snarled as he shot up, pacing the room.

It wasn’t that he never noticed women. He did! Women were nice! They were soft, and sweet, and cute. He could even see himself marrying a woman, one day. Maybe. Maybe even sleeping with her, maybe even enjoying it. But it didn’t make his blood boil. Not like the thought of a man.

But that was ridiculous. He was a prince. He would be married to a woman, would produce an heir that would make his father proud. And he’d do it! Happily!

He just...

No! He just nothing! It meant nothing, he cared not at all. Especially not for that boy from the market, with his gorgeous hair, and stunning eyes. And his toned, slightly too thin body, muscles fighting against hunger. Oh, what he would look like after a few good meals, under that ragged, tattered old shirt he had worn...

Before he could chastise himself farther, he heard a knock at his door, startling him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he cried, trying to make it seem like he was perfectly fine. Because he was. Perfectly fine. Of course, he was.

He let out a soft sigh of relief when he saw Gaius’s face pop into view, the older man’s eyes softening when he saw him. Merlin had been afraid it was his father. He knew he shouldn’t think like that, but... well.

“Gaius! Hello! It’s good to see you, are you doing well?” He quizzed, like it had been years since he had last seen the elder man, not the day it had been.

“Yes, your highness, I’m doing quite fine. And you? Is your arm better, from the griffin?”

Merlin winced, reflectivity rotating his shoulder, though no pain had plagued him for a few days now. Still, he remembered the sharp sting of pain as the griffin tore into his upper left shoulder. It had been a surface wound, due to a stupid slip of concentration, but it had hurt like hell at the time. Gaius’s salves worked like magic, though, and now he was as good as new. Funny, since Merlin knew that the older man rarely used magic potions, unless he had to. It was a funny thing about his old mentor, but he respected it. Especially when they always worked so well.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Not even a slight twinge of pain now,” Merlin grinned, causing Gaius to chuckle lightly, shaking his head the way he always did. Merlin found his mouth going dry and spoke before he had fully considered his words. Like usual, then.

“So, uh. Do you know, uh, I mean... what about the boy? Uh, the one sent to your rooms?” Merlin grimaced as he saw Gaius’s eyebrows go up, judging him silently. Like usual. He panicked as he hurried to get the words out in a way that made him look less like an idiot. “I-I mean I was just wondering, that is, I wanted to know, if he was, I mean-“

Merlin was cut off by a low chuckle, Gaius shaking his head with a fond grin on his face.

“Stop Merlin, you’ll only hurt yourself if you keep trying. The boy is fine. He woke up a little while ago and took a pain potion. He should be healed fully by tomorrow.”

Merlin let out a soft breath he had been holding, relief filling him. He couldn’t help but remember the bright red blood that had marred the boy’s golden skin, blue eyes shut tight in unconsciousness. A second later, though, Merlin chased the relief away with a scowl, annoyance filling him. The peasant had deserved it, he felt! After all, he had called him stupid! A pillock! And was so impudent, so audacious, so presumptuous, so... so other synonyms of insolent! So, Merlin felt, he deserved what he got.

Right?

Right, Merlin nodded, ignoring Gaius’s questioning look.

“Well, good. Then he should be in good shape for the stocks come morning. I’m looking forward to seeing him in there. I’m sure rotten tomatoes will cure him of his, his rudeness,” Merlin crowed, feeling awfully pleased. Even Gaius’s disappointed look couldn’t quell the feeling.

“Merlin, that boy is in no shape to be put in the stocks. His back is still healing and will likely be scabbed over for a few days yet. He’ll probably be out of the city before they fully heal, so if you put him in the stocks, well, I fear he’ll break open the wounds again and I’ll have to fix him up once more. I’m a busy man, Merlin,” Gaius chided, head shaking slightly. Merlin’s mouth opened in shock, guilt niggling at him. He knew the boy had been bleeding, but he hadn’t thought it _that_ bad, and hadn’t Gaius just said...

“B-but you just said he’d be fully healed by the morning! Like, you literally just said that!”

Gaius sniffed, eyeing Merlin with disapproval.

“Yes, I did say that. But that was more about his head injury, which was of more concern. His back, however, will take longer to heal. I could speed it up with magic, but as he’s non-magical, I dare say he might be better off healing naturally, with maybe a little aide if needed. And anyway, he’s my guest, so I won’t have you sending him to the stocks, you hear me, Merlin?”

Merlin spluttered, eyes wide as he took in his mentor and dearest friend. He couldn’t be serious?!

“You, you invited him to stay in your quarters?! Gaius! Why?! He insulted me _and_ my honor! How could you?!”

Merlin felt so betrayed, even more so when Gaius just chuckled, grinning at his affront.

“Oh, Merlin. Arthur’s a good boy, strong and resilient. He’s a good heart, I assure you. Yes, he has a temper, but I’m sure you’ll come to enjoy his company once you get to know him. Who knows, maybe you’ll even love it,” Gaius claimed, sending Merlin a wink that he desperately wished he hadn’t seen. He ignored the words, despite the churning they cause in his stomach, stomping away with a huff. He did file away the name, though. Not because he ever intended on seeing the boy again, no. But just... out of curiosity. That’s all.

Gaius left soon after that, leaving a salve on the table, telling Merlin that it was there if he needed it. He felt a bit guilty as he ignored the older man, but mostly felt it was justified. After all, Gaius had betrayed him! Had offered that, that... that _clotpole_ a place to stay! In the castle! Where Merlin lived!

Ugh. This was awful. The worst thing that had ever happened to him. And! And he wouldn’t even get to see the peasant in the stocks, not unless he wanted Gaius mad at him. Which he didn’t. He loved Gaius, almost more than he loved his own father, though he’d never dare even think that, not even to himself. So, with a sigh, Merlin took a heavy seat at the table and put his head in hand, his cheek resting inside the splayed fingers.

God, he hoped he never saw that-that clotpole again.

(God, he hoped he did.)

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Three days. It had been three days since he had arrived at Camelot. Three days since he had met that aggravating, stupid warlock _prince_. Three days of gathering herbs and delivering potions.

It was... interesting. It had been a bit of a challenge, finding the right herbs that Gaius had wanted, as the herbs here were slightly different to the ones his mother had him collect at home. But he learned quick. It was harder still to find the sorcerers that Gaius told him to give potions to, as he’d never heard of half of them. But he was grateful to Gaius for his kindness in letting him stay. His back still stung whenever he moved, and he knew that sleeping on the ground would have just made it worse. Plus, he had an actual _bed_ for once. God, that was a trip. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but it was off the ground, and near a fire, so it was _warm_. God, he loved warmth.

He had met the king’s ward the other day, Gaius asking him to deliver her a potion. He had been strangely intimidated, though she had been beyond lovely, her brown hair and eyes glistening like bronze. Freya, her name was. Lady Freya. Arthur would have fancied himself in love, if it were not for the fact that she was a powerful sorceress.

But she had been oh so kind to him... unlike every other sorcerer he’d met. Half didn’t even bother looking up when he entered, just waving their hands, and grabbing the potion with magic. Disgusting.

Well, he supposed it didn’t matter. He had heard rumors, in his three days, that the prince was madly in love with his father’s ward. So, there wouldn’t have been any hope. Not that he wanted to have hope, no. Just... well. It didn’t matter.

All in all, Camelot wasn’t what he had expected it to be. It was bigger, louder, dingier, but also... familiar. Like he’d been here before. Which was ridiculous. He’d never been to Camelot in his life. He’s sure he’d remember. Still, it was like... like he belonged here. Like he was finally, finally home, after decades away.

But that was wrong, he scowled, grabbing some more wolfsbane. His home was far from here. Not Camelot. Never Camelot.

Despite how pleasant it may seem, Arthur knew the evil underbelly this city held. The hatred towards those without magic. Those who refused to learn. Or, through a trick of fate, couldn’t learn. He still couldn’t forget that headless boy, the mother’s desperate wailing. While he had come to care for Gaius, the old man like the grandfather he’d never had, he missed his mother dearly, as well as the small farming town he hailed from.

Sighing, Arthur picked some last few herbs before heading back to the castle, the light of the day starting to fade. That meant the festivities would start, he thought bitterly. 20 years, it marked. 20 years since the sorcerer Balinor overthrew the non-magical king and declared himself king of Camelot. 20 years since those who refused to learn magic were persecuted, ridiculed, and hated. 20 years of suffering, misery, and pain.

And they held a celebration for it.

It made him sick.

Of course, he had heard the whispers, among the servants. Whispers of hope, whispers of freedom. Whispers of an Once and Future king, a man destined to reclaim the throne of Camelot and reunite Albion. Apparently, it had been a prophecy, foretold years and years ago, when Arthur had just been a baby. But he didn’t believe in such nonsense, not anymore. It was just talk, designed to make the small feel better about themselves. A bedtime story his mother had told him, ages ago. He didn’t begrudge the servants their hope, but he had none. After all, how could a mere mortal man fight against all powerful sorcerers? As much as Arthur hated them, he had to admit they were effective.

He entered the city in no time at all, not looking the guards in the eye as he passed. He had learned the hard way that they didn’t like non-magical people being so bold. Whatever. It grated Arthur, his hands itching for the sword he’d left in Gaius’s room, but there was nothing he could do. It may have galled him, but it was true. And, contrary to popular belief, Arthur was not an idiot. He knew what battles he could and could not win. And while he was fantastic with a sword, the movement coming as naturally to him as breathing, he was not allowed to use it. Only in self-defense. And even then, he’d likely be killed, as the king rarely cared the reason why. He only really carried the thing since it was all he had left of his father. That, and an old signet ring that he kept on a chain, nearest to his heart.

His mind in the clouds, he barely registered his feet walking the now familiar path to Gaius’s room. He only jolted out of his thoughts when he nearly ran into someone rushing out of the rooms. He scowled and was about to snap at the person, until he saw the mop of brown hair, large ears, and a weird red... _thing_ around a thin neck.

 _Of course,_ Arthur thought wryly _. Of, bloody, course._

And here he was thinking his wish had been answered. That he’d never see this prat again. But no. The gods truly did hate him.

“Hey, watch ou- oh. It’s you again,” the boy before him intoned, eyes turning hard, before a cocky grin lighted his face. “Come to get humiliated again? I’m sure I can teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.”

The boy- prince, whatever- leered at him. Or, he tried to. It more looked like a grimace mixed with a wince, but whatever. Arthur wasn’t in the mood. He was annoyed enough at the feast that night. He didn’t need this, too.

“Oh, whatever, you prat. Just... get out of my way and let me get into my room,” Arthur barked, sneer rising on his face. He tried not to let his heart race at the look of anger the prince gave him, telling himself it was racing out of anger, not fear. Or... anything else.

“You, you can’t call me a prat! I’m the prince in case you failed to notice!” The boy exclaimed, pointing at his head. Arthur was momentarily confused, until he noticed the crown that adorned the boy’s head. Huh. He hadn’t noticed that. It hadn’t been there the previous time, for he was sure he’d have noticed then. It looked like it was made of woven ivy leaves, covered in liquid gold, but somehow still living. There were golden berries on some of the branches, jewels on others. It was, honestly, kind of beautiful.

But that wasn’t important. The prat in front of him was. Or, insulting the prat in front of him was. The prat himself wasn’t important at all. No sirree.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Your _royal_ pratness, then. How’s that, is that better?” Arthur hissed, blood singing as he stared into infuriated (beautiful) blue eyes. It had been a while since he had felt so... so _alive_. It was exhilarating. And terrifying, but Arthur didn’t care about that. He’d looked terror in the eyes before, battling the beasts that tried to invade his village, organizing the men into a force to be reckoned with. He wasn’t afraid of anything. Certainly not a waifish, delicate looking young prince whose face was flushed prettily with anger, eyes shining and bright. Wait. Not prettily. He meant-

He didn’t have time to know what he meant when he felt himself fly backwards, his back hitting the far wall with a grunt. He waited for the blinding pain, like the last time, but it never came. It seemed the prince had been practicing, as Arthur felt barely a twinge as his back hit the wall, the wind knocked out of him more than anything. He tried to move, but couldn’t, his back glued to the stone. He tried not to feel afraid as the prince stalked towards him, eyes glowing gold. Arthur pushed the thought away of how beautiful those golden eyes were, even filled with such anger.

He saw the prince open his mouth, eyes flashing as he stopped before him, finger pressed to his chest as the boy crowded Arthur, but before he could say a word, the door to Gaius’s quarters opened, startling both boys badly. Arthur stumbled as the magic let him go, dropping the couple inches he hadn’t known he’d been suspended hard. He grunted, but didn’t let any other noise escape him, especially when the prince gave him a smug look.

“What on earth… Merlin! What in heaven’s name are you doing? That is my guest! And, look at that, you made him drop all the herbs he picked for me. I needed those, you know!”

Arthur watched in amazement as the prince, Merlin apparently (so he hadn’t bothered to learn the prince’s name, whatever. The boy was a prat, sue him), froze and looked at Gaius with a chagrined look on his face. It was hilarious, but he didn’t dare laugh, lest Gaius’s wrath be upon him. He’d only lived here three days, but he knew that Gaius was not a man to be trifled with.

“Ah, Gaius! I, uh, don’t know what you mean! Arthur and I were just having a nice little chat, right, Arthur?”

Merlin gave him an intense death glare, promising pain if he refused to go along with his words. Arthur, however, was never one to back down from a challenge, and so he just smirked, a little evilly, loving the way the prince paled significantly. No, wait. Not loving, he meant... he... oh screw it, whatever. He didn’t bother to wonder about how the boy knew his name. Probably Gaius.

“Oh, yeah, Gaius. Just having a-a lovely chat. With me suspended three inches off the ground with my back magicked to a wall. Just a friendly, lovely, little chat. Isn’t that right, _Mer_ lin.”

It felt strange. The name. Merlin. Mer _lin_. It was odd. But... nice. Wait. No. Nope! Not nice. Definitely not... whatever. It was strange, that’s all. Not a name he’d ever heard before, not outside of the birds his mother liked. It strangely fit the odd young man in front of him. But he refused to say that out loud, so he just smirked meanly, grinning outright when he saw Merlin’s death glare. Oh, he’d pay for that, he knew. But who cared? He was under Gaius’s protection and it seemed the prince cared what Gaius thought. And he’d be out of there in less than four days, never to return (hopefully). He’d be fine. Probably.

Gaius tsked and moved forward to pick the herbs up. Arthur briefly wondered why the man didn’t use magic to gather them, since he knew the man had magic, had seen it, but figured it didn’t matter. He was allowed his quirks.

“I thought I told you to leave poor Arthur alone. His back is still healing. He can’t handle you throwing him around the castle, slamming him into walls. He’s delicate.”

Arthur’s eyes widened significantly as he opened and closed his mouth, hands clenching into fists when he heard a snort of laughter coming out of Merlin. His turn to glare, he put every inch of his hatred into his glower, almost wishing he had magic so he could burn the prince with his eyes alone. But, he didn’t, so he just had to settle for his patented Arthur Pendragon Glare of Death (as Gwaine, lovingly, called it).

“Wha-I, I am not delicate! I am-I am far from-from delicate, thank you very much! How dare you, I mean, I-”

He was at a loss for words, anger and affront filling him. Merlin burst out laughing, then, eyes shining with mirth. Arthur ignored the butterflies that gave him, ignored the thought that said Merlin’s laugh was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, like a bell. He instead scowled harder.

“Oh, hush. I didn’t mean it like that. And you should stop laughing, Merlin. One would think you liked pushing young Arthur around. Throwing him up against walls like that. Well, people might talk.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to laugh, as Merlin’s face turned beet red, eyes darting away from his as he spluttered, trying to defend himself, very poorly. God, the boy was worse than he was! Not that that was saying much, since Arthur was perfectly articulate, thanks ever so.

Still, it was funny. The shade of red that Merlin turned almost matched that godawful thing around his neck. Was that... was that a _neckerchief_?! God, he thought those had gone out of style eons ago, if it had ever been in style at all. Arthur pushed aside the thought that said it suited the boy.

Gaius just tsked again, but Arthur swore he saw a smile on the old man’s face. It made him feel... strange. Warm. That same feeling as earlier. Like he was home.

But he wasn’t. And he had to remember that.

“Oh, alright, that’s enough. You need to leave, Prince Merlin, or your father will have my head. Hurry now, don’t tarry! You still need to change before the feast. Where is that servant of yours, anyway? I’ve not seen him in a while.”

“Oh, I fired him. He was godawful. Just... bad. But you’re probably right. See you there, Gaius. Hope to never see you again, clotpole.”

With that, the prince sauntered off, head held high, like the pompous arse he was. God. He was straight up the worst.

He hadn’t realized he’d been staring after that pompous arse until he heard Gaius cluck at him. He was starting to hate that sound.

“Oh, you go on, too. You need to get changed for tonight as well.”

Arthur looked at Gaius like he had gone mad. To be fair, he may have. It’s not like Arthur knew how old the old man actually was, after all. Didn’t old men turn senile, after a certain age?

“Uh, Gaius. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not going to the feast. I’m not invited. Plus, I’m non-magical. I think that going would be against at least one law. Having a non-magical person there for the, oh, I don’t know, 20th anniversary of my people’s enslavement?”

He hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. After all, Gaius had done nothing wrong to him. But he couldn’t help it. It just... slipped out.

Gaius tsked. “Ah, but Arthur, I have already told the king I was bringing a guest. You don’t have to worry, you’ll just be along the wall, but I thought it would be good for you to get out. Meet some people. It’ll be fun!”

It didn’t sound like fun. Skulking along the wall as a bunch of sorcerers patted themselves on the back for practically enslaving his kind. Yeah. So much fun.

Gaius clearly saw the look on his face since he only shook his head as he herded Arthur through the entry to his quarters and into his borrowed room.

“Come now, Arthur. It’ll be good for you to get out. I’ve got a good feeling about tonight. Now, I’ve laid out some clothes for you. They’re a bit old but should fit you rather nicely. They belonged to an old friend of mine, but I’m sure he’d love you to have them. Go on, get dressed. Meet me out here in half an hour. Go on!”

Arthur had no choice but to agree, scowl permanently stuck on his face. Sorcerers. He hated them. Truly, he did.

Just as he had given in and almost walked up the stairs to his (temporary) room, he heard Gaius call out. He turned back and saw the most serious expression on the old man’s face that he’d seen yet.

“Oh! One more thing, before I forget. You cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone your last name. Do you hear me? Not a soul.”

Huh? Arthur looked at Gaius like he’d gone mad again but was only met with a stony expression that left no room for argument. However, this was Arthur he was dealing with, so an argument he got.

“Wait, what? But... why?! It’s my name!”

It was, quite literally, all he had. One of the only keepsakes he had of his father, his heritage. Why did he have to keep that a secret? It seemed silly, but Gaius looked more serious than ever, so he knew there had to be a good reason. Even if it made no sense.

“Just... trust me, Arthur. Please.”

The strangest thing was... he did. And so, he agreed, even though he didn’t understand. Even though he didn’t want to even go to this stupid feast. Even though it pained him to have to hide a part of himself, even if no one in the world cared. He was a Pendragon, adopting the surname after his mother had told him of it on his fourth birthday, refusing to listen to her protests. That name once meant something. He should be proud of it, even if no one else on this godforsaken earth was.

He was starting to realize, however, that, despite his misgivings, part of him was excited for that night. He’d never attended a fancy party before. He wondered if there would be dancing. He never danced, no, didn’t know how. But it just seemed like... like fun. Even if sorcerers were the ones doing it. Even if they were celebrating the conquest of his people.

At least the clothes Gaius picked out were nice. Far better quality than anything he’d ever owned, that’s for sure. It was fine silk, with velvet. Probably cost a fortune, once upon a time. Hopefully, Gaius was right and the friend he’d borrowed this from didn’t mind a dirty, non-magical peasant wearing his fine silk. Putting it on was a struggle, but he managed. It fit rather well, too. A little loose around the shoulders, like the person who last wore this was broader, bulkier, but it was good. Nice.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

God, this night was a _disaster_. Merlin contemplated how disappointed his father would be if he drowned himself in his cup of wine.

Well, alright. To be fair, it wasn’t that the night was _awful_ , awful. It just... well. Maybe it had to do with Freya, his father’s ward, flirting with the men around her. No, he wasn’t madly in love with her, like the rumors said. He just... admired her, that’s all. And maybe, _maybe_ he’d been infatuated as a child, her big brown eyes captivating him. But then he’d grown into a man, and realized his, ahem, _lower regions_ didn’t stir that much when he saw her. Oh, they did, a little. But nothing like what that one fit serving boy had made him feel, when he’d been younger... or Arthu-

And he went back to contemplating his demise in a wine glass. It seemed a fitting end.

Needless to say, he was not having fun. Nothing about this was fun. He was stuck in stuffy old clothes he hated, talking with stuffy old people he barely tolerated, sitting in a stuffy old room, which he hated. The only good part was the food. And even that was wearing on his nerves.

And. And, it didn’t help that along the edges of the room, he could see the bane of his existence. The stain on his otherwise perfect (ha!) life. Arthur.

God. And he was even wearing nice clothes, for once. Where the hell had he gotten silk and velvet from?! Did he steal it? No... it fit him too well. Maybe it was Gaius’s? Hm.

Wherever he got it, the outfit suited him. Bright red, with golden accents. It was like the colors of the old kingdom, which he usually hated out of habit, but it looked natural on the peasant. Like he belonged in those colors. Merlin could barely tear his eyes away from the boy, who was standing awkwardly in the corner, like he didn’t know if he belonged. Well, he didn’t, so that was one thing.

He turned his attention away, looking at the displays before him. Magic was being used so casually in the room. Sorcerers showing off, trying to court one another. It was awful, too, but could be amusing. Like the young magician, trying to impress Lady Freya with some hastily conjured flowers. Please! Like that would work. Though she did smile prettily at him... hm. Whatever.

Bored, Merlin’s gaze walked around the room, landing once again on Arthur. Merlin tried to tear his eyes away but couldn’t. The boy looked, despite his best efforts, enthralled. Enraptured. Enchanted. Other ‘E’ words. He kept staring at acts of magic like they were foreign to him. Maybe they were. Not all villages had sorcerers in them, though many did. Maybe he was from an outlying village, and entirely nonmagical one. Perhaps. Merlin soon found himself enthralled, wine glass death forgotten as he stared. Gods, he was beautiful. Incredible. Stupendous. Amazi-

God. He was fucked.

Luckily (or unluckily, it depended), his father began to talk to him, talking about the recent uprising they had defeated. Merlin tried to be interested, he did, but it was hard. Especially when his father mentioned the child who had gotten in the way of his father’s execution ax, getting killed alongside the man, the wife and mother inconsolable with grief. Why did his father think this good dinner conversation? He had no idea.

Finally, the entire room hushed as the entertainment for the night came in. It was a lovely young woman, non-magical, who had the voice of an angel, it was said. She smiled prettily at his father as she started her song.

It was indeed beautiful, Merlin thought, a small smile on his face for the first time. He could almost have believed her to be a sorceress, for how captivating she sounded. Everyone’s eyes were on her as she sang. All eyes but one.

Suddenly, as the singer hit her high note, Merlin felt more than saw the knife as it hurled towards him. Magic on guard, he quickly blocked it, eyes tearing from the woman towards the side, where the knife had come. Before he could see who had thrown it, his magic sounded again, warning him of another danger. But this time, he knew it was going to be too late.

In horror Merlin turned his head, time seeming to pass in slow motion, as the knife soared through the air, straight towards his heart. He could block it. He knew the words; his magic was roaring in his veins. And yet... he paused, eyes wide as he stared at the woman, the beautiful singer, eyes red with anger and hatred. What had he done to earn her ire? What had he done...?

Well, it wouldn’t matter in a moment, he thought hysterically, eyes tracking the slow-moving blade. He’d be dead soon. Dead. His magic, powerless to help. Or, it could help. But he couldn’t muster up the strength to call it. Why? Why? Wh-

He felt something heavy slam into his side, pressing him down onto the harsh, unforgiving ground, knocking all the air out of him. Above his head a knife flew into the chair behind where his chest had been seconds before. He stared, wide eyed, at the space, before a quiet hiss of pain alerted him to his rescuer.

Eyes nearly black with how dilated the boy’s pupils had become, Merlin stared deep into the eyes of the bane of his existence. The reason his blood had been boiling for the last three days. The occupant of his every waking thought. Bloody _Arthur_.

“What on earth were you thinking?! Are you insane?!” Arthur hissed, a grimace of pain on his face. It was then he remembered the peasant’s injuries, which he had likely opened in his dash to be the noble rescuer. When had Arthur gotten to close to him that he could just... save him like that? Why had he had to be saved by a non-magical person?! Ugh. How embarrassing.

Before he could reply, not that his addled brain could think much of anything at the moment, he heard his father’s voice booming out.

“Guards! Grab them!”

“No! You monster, you killed him! My, my brother you killed him! I’ll make you pay, Balinor Emrys, I’ll make you pay!”

The woman screamed, her once beautiful voice broken as the guards surrounded her and dragged her away. From the ground, Merlin could barely see the old woman from the execution also get dragged off, sobbing too hard to say anything. So, it was her. Her and her daughter, out for revenge. Merlin wanted to hate them, hate them for trying to end his life. But all he felt was cold inside.

The body that was still atop him froze, the woman’s pained words causing him to shudder, Merlin feeling every last movement. He wondered if he regretted it. Regretted saving his life. Merlin knows he would if he was in Arthur’s shoes. So much pain. So much death. To what end?

To what end?

It seemed like an eternity that Arthur laid atop him, like a blanket protecting him from the world. Logically, it could only have been seconds before the boy rolled off him, kneeling down as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes still wide, pupils blown. He stared unseeing at the wall. Merlin didn’t blame him.

He hesitantly stood up, knees weak and eyes unseeing. He stared blankly at the knife still embedded in the chair. He had had attempts on his life before. He had gotten far closer to death than this. So why was he so shaken?

“You… you saved my son’s life,” Merlin distantly heard his father say, though he couldn’t look away from the knife. He heard Arthur grunt, saw him stand hesitantly, face grimaced in pain, but it was all so distant. So far away. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Oh, it was nothing, just, you know. Nothing,” Arthur claimed, cheeks pink and eyes downcast. It almost looked like shyness, but Merlin could see the truth. Arthur’s hands were clenched in fists, his (beautiful, so goddam beautiful) jaw set in stone. He was angry. Furious. He did regret it, Merlin thought absently. He tried to ignore the stab of pain that caused in him. Larger than the stab wound he could have gotten had he not been saved, he felt.

“Nonsense. You, you deserve some reward. I know! You will have a seat in the royal family. You can be Merlin’s new manservant!” Balinor announced, grinning like he had thought of some great prize. And maybe it would have been. For anyone else. Instead, Merlin watched as Arthur’s eyes widened, before narrowing with anger and disgust. Balinor didn’t see that, though. He had already turned away to deal with the guests.

“No, I- I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m only in Camelot for a few more days, I couldn’t possibly-“

“Nonsense! You will be Merlin’s new manservant. It has been decided. It would be a great insult to decline me now, boy, so you’d best be grateful. Now, where were we…” his father‘s voice drifted off, Merlin’s ears now roaring with blood, drowning out all sound but that of his beating heart. He could only stare at Arthur, mouth dry and sealed shut, watching the anger and rage dance over those beautiful cerulean eyes, followed quickly by disgust, then sorrow, before resignation finally filled them. He couldn’t breathe for a second as those eyes met his, narrow where his were wide. That jaw was set, fists clenched, eyes now blazing with emotions that Merlin couldn’t, wouldn’t name. It hurt too much. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t...

With that, Arthur turned and stalked away, anger and rage and darkness surrounding him like a fog. Distantly he noticed Gaius following him, chasing after the enraged boy, but Merlin didn’t care. He just stared, unseeing, at the door Arthur stormed out of, until he felt a soft hand touch his arm, pulling him roughly back into reality. The noises all came back at once, nearly deafening him. He looked, wide eyed, down at Freya, the girl’s brown eyes full of sorrow and compassion.

“Merlin. Merlin, are you alright? Did you, did you get hurt?” Freya questioned, a soft frown marring her beautiful lips. Merlin felt a pang as he saw her worry and forced a smile upon his lips.

“Ah, don’t worry for me, my Lady. I’m, I’m fine. Just… just fine. How did he… how did he get to me so fast? I thought…” Merlin trailed off, eyes glassing over again as he pondered. Freya didn’t let him slip away, though, gentle hands moving to grasp his. He stared her in the eye as she shook her head.

“I don’t know. I saw him, staring towards the area that the old woman was hiding, before he moved over to the main table. And then, when the first knife started flying… he just, leapt. Over the table and into you. It was, dare I say… heroic. He certainly is brave.”

Yeah. Brave. That’s one word for it.

Merlin took a heavy seat, the knife that had almost ended his life inches from his face as he sat, thinking.

So. The boy was to be his new servant. Some reward, he thought with a snort, shaking his head. His father had the worst ideas of what was a good reward or not. But still. Arthur was to be his servant. To wait on him, day, and night. To stay in Camelot, or else feel the wrath of his father.

Oh.

Merlin, for the first time since he’d felt his magic sing the danger of the knife, felt a smile rise on his face. It was not a nice smile. Not at all.

After all. He was still so very angry at being called a pillock.

Perhaps some recompense was in order?

(He ignored the voice that asked if saving his life wasn’t recompense enough?)

(No, he decided softly, in bed that night. No.)

(He wanted so much more.)

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

He was going to kill someone. Most likely his new, stupid, horrible, _master_.

Master! His! God, how dare they?! He’d saved the prince’s life! And now, this? This?!

Arthur felt like throwing things, but the room was not his, so he dared not. But he did grab the pillow and swing it at the wall, over and over, until some of his anger had been released. And then he punched the pillow, over and over, until he was panting, eyes misty only because of the exertion. Nothing else.

He could feel his heart clenching as his knees gave out, weak from the… the exertion. Not the idea that he’d never see his mother again, or his friends. Not the idea that he was stuck in this godforsaken castle for who knows how long. Not the idea that he was now the unwilling servant to the rudest, most vile person he had ever met. No. Not at all. Just… exertion.

He heard soft sounds puttering around downstairs, Gaius clearly home. But Arthur didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to see anyone, but especially him. It was his fault he’d been at the feast, anyway. All his fault.

Well. It hadn’t been Gaius’s fault that he’d saved the stupid prince’s life. God. What had he been thinking?! Why! Why had he done that?!

He honestly didn’t know. The feast had been going surprisingly well if he were being honest. He’d even managed to snag some food, the most delicious things he had ever put in his mouth, making him groan filthily. Luckily, no one had heard him, but it was so good. So, what, the prince had his eyes trained directly on him, following his every move, the prat? Who cared? There was pleasant music playing, light chatter, good smells, amazing food… what more could the simple farm boy ask for?

And then that woman began to sing. And he got that awful feeling in his gut.

He honestly didn’t know why. The woman was beautiful, her voice like an angel’s. Everyone was entranced, even the king. Arthur had watched, but his heart had begun pounding, mind racing. Something wasn’t right. Something… something felt off.

And then he’d seen it.

Behind one of the many curtains, movement. A flash of something. Silver. _A knife._

Before he’d even been able to think it through properly, Arthur had felt his feet moving, carrying him forward. He didn’t know where he was going, just moving, until he found himself beside the royal table. He knew he’d be in so much trouble for being there, but something felt so wrong. And going to the table had just felt… right.

And then he’d seen the knife being thrown, as the woman hit her high note. And then he’d had no other thought other than ‘save Merlin.’

God.

He hadn’t even known that Merlin was the target. He’d just seen the knife and… dove. Luckily, he dove when he saw the first knife fly, as it had given him enough time to knock the prince down before the second knife landed, right where the prince’s heart had been.

And now. NOW. Despite his good deed. Despite the fact he had _saved his son’s life_ , now he was forced to be the prince’s manservant by the fucking king.

It wasn’t fair! He just wanted to give his stupid request to the stupid solicitor, for the stupid grain and stupid seed! Why, why was that so hard?!

And he knew he couldn’t refuse. Balinor has said it himself, to refuse was a great dishonor. It didn’t matter it was supposed to be a reward. It didn’t matter that Arthur longed so desperately to go home. It didn’t matter that he hated Merlin with all his heart. It didn’t matter. Because the King has decided. And Arthur was the one who would suffer. Or else his mother and the rest of his village would, should he refuse.

He sat shakily down on his bed (for now, he thought desperately, but what about now that he was staying indefinitely? Where was he going to stay?) and put his face in his hands and tried his damndest not to cry. He was a man, goddammit. Men didn’t cry. He wasn’t a girl. He wasn’t…

But maybe he was, he thought helplessly, as tears began to stream down his face, angry and hot. He tried to stifle his sobs, but he couldn’t do that anymore than he could stop the rain. He was powerless. Weak. Nothing.

As he sobbed, he mourned the life he had. He mourned the loss of his mother, for surely, he’d never see her again. He’d be worked to the bone, he knew it. Merlin hated him as much as he hated Merlin. If he were in the prince’s shoes, he’d make his life a living hell. And that’s exactly what it would be. Arthur was sure of it.

And all because the greedy King had withdrawn their allotted levels of seed two years past, making their village slowly starve as they tried to recover. He never had any hope the king would listen to his village’s plea. The king hated them. Hated his kind. With a passion. Anyone who refused to learn magic. Or who just couldn’t, like Arthur. Oh, he’d tried. Tried, to protect his mother, keep her safe. Wanted to learn magic so bad it burned him. But no matter what he tried, he couldn’t even light a damned candle. He was useless. Nothing.

He sobbed for what felt like hours, tears never drying, until he had nothing left. And then he just stared blankly at the wall, breathing heavy, heart heavier.

When the door creaked open, hours later, Arthur didn’t even care. Maybe it was a thief. Let them kill him. He was already dead, he thought, melodramatic.

But all he felt was a soft, gentle hand touch his hair, carding soft fingers through it. His breath hitched, stuttering in his chest. The old man above him just hushed him, hand moving soothingly through his hair.

“Hush, Arthur, it’s alright. It’ll be alright. You’ll see. This is your destiny, my boy. This is what was meant to be.”

Was it, he wondered, staring blankly at the darkened wall? Was it his destiny to be a whipping boy, beaten for his master’s amusement? At least in the fields he was free. Free, like a bird. No. Free, like a _dragon_.

Now? Now, he was caged. And he knew he was being dramatic, being a girl, being a-a pillock. But he didn’t _care_. He was so tired. So very, very tired. He just wanted to go home, to his mother, to hold her tight and never let go. To see his friends, Gwaine’s carefree laughter a balm to his aching heart, Gwen’s sweet smile making his heart soar. He wanted these last few days to be a dream, a nightmare, to wake up in his mattress, free, at home.

But that wouldn’t happen. He was here. Trapped. In Camelot. With people who hated him surrounding him.

How on earth was he supposed to survive?

He felt another sob enter his throat, mortifying him. It was one thing to cry like a baby alone, where no one could see him. It was another to cry in front of another man, never mind how tenderly the other held him, like he was precious.

So, he squared himself up, sitting up abruptly and scrubbing his eyes roughly, trying to erase the memory of his tears. But Gaius saw. Gaius always saw. He’d only known the man three days, yet he knew that already. Gaius saw everything a person tried to hide.

“What am I going to do, Gaius? I, I don’t know how to be a servant. Merlin hates me. I don’t…” Arthur trailed off, running a hand roughly through his hair. He shook his head, then squared his shoulders once more, jaw set.

This was a challenge. The universe was challenging him. And he, Arthur Pendragon, never turned down a challenge. Ever. He was brave, and noble, and a warrior. Like his father was, and his father before him, and his father before him. And maybe his father would never had lowered himself to be a lowly servant. Maybe his father would have rather died than that. But Arthur wouldn’t know. He’d never known his father. The man had died before he’d even been born. Or so he assumed. He honestly didn’t know. His mother rarely spoke about it, just said the man ‘went away.’ He’d either died before he’d been born or had left shortly after his birth. It didn’t matter, regardless, as he had no memory of the man either way.

So, he’d take it as a challenge. A fight. And he would win. Oh God, he would win. He’d make Merlin Emrys rue the day he ever set eyes on Arthur Pendragon, he swore that now, eyes blazing as Gaius stared at him with pity in his eyes. But that was okay. He didn’t need pity. He was the last of the noble line of Pendragon. He’d honor those before him. He swore he would, or he’d die trying.

He was jolted from his noble thoughts when Gaius coughed lightly beside him, turning his gaze to the older man. It was then that the pain in his back come back, the sticky blood that spilled after he tore open the wound earlier having dried into uncomfortable crust.

“Well, whatever it is that you decided just now, know that I support you. I know you’ve not known me long, but I would be honored to have you stay here with me, as long as you need. I still ask for the occasional help, though I imagine you’ll have your hands full with Merlin. I love that boy like he was my own, but I know how stubborn and pigheaded he can be. But he can also be kind, kinder than anything else on this planet. He has a large heart, though he tries his very best to hide it, to protect it from the world. Don’t forget that, young Pendragon. And don’t forget my warning, either. No one can know your last name. Alright? Not even Merlin. Especially not him.”

Arthur stared at Gaius, trying to understand the meaning behind the warning. He dismissed the other words, though. Merlin wasn’t kind. He couldn’t be. He’d taken away Arthur’s freedom, after all. He focused on the thing that mattered now, though. That made no sense at all.

“But why? I don’t understand. Please, Gaius. Tell me,” he pleaded, soft and imploring. He saw Gaius wavering, but eventually the older man shook his head.

“I’m afraid it’s much too late to have this conversation. But one day, Arthur. One day, I promise I will tell you everything. For now, rest. You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Now, let me look at your back. I fear you’ve torn open your wounds.”

With that, the elder man stood up and exited the room, puttering around downstairs as he grabbed some salves. He returned a moment later, helping Arthur get out of the rich clothes he’d likely ruined. He looked sadly at the ruined fine silk but watched in amazement as Gaius just muttered a spell and the blood magically vanished. Hm. Maybe magic wasn’t all bad? The older man then set to work healing Arthur’s back, the boy grunting in pain even at the soft ministrations.

Once finished, the man stood and exited the room with a soft ‘good night, Arthur,’ closing the door gently behind him. Great, Arthur thought. Just great. Well, at least he had a place to stay. It was… something. One less worry. But now he had another.

Head swimming, Arthur didn’t know how he would sleep that night. But when he placed his head down on the pillow, his eyes closed unbidden, heavy with tears and pain. His back ached, but he welcomed it. Pain was familiar. Pain was an old friend.

Pain was the only thing he would know from now on.

He’d better get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! That was the first chapter. Some things I write in this chapter may get contradicted later, just because I honestly forgot what I wrote in this chapter, aha. I tried to fix that. Also, no idea why I made Cerdan a solicitor. Is that even the right word for the role I put him in? No idea, I wrote that when I was 17 and 22 year old me just ran with it. Also, Cerdan is Mordred's father (probably), who was killed in the first season. Also, if anyone is confused, Ewan is the knight who died in the second episode, Valiant. No idea why I added him, either, but eh. He comes back in later chapters, so keep an eye out for him. 
> 
> Anyway! Posting schedule. This story is complete, mostly. I currently have 38 chapters, roughly 10,000 words each (give or take), and I'm planning on posting once a week until I'm out. Maybe twice a week, depending. I will post every weekend, usually Sunday, but possibly earlier, possibly later, depends on how I feel.
> 
> One thing to note, though. The other relationship tags. While the Morgana/Freya and Uther/Ygraine is mild, the Merlin/Gwaine is not. Spoilers, but they do end up in a relationship, though the end game is Merthur. But if you hate any other pairing other than Merthur, this may not be the fic for you. I still ask you give it a chance, but the Meraine (what is their ship name called? Gwerlin? Maine? Magical Strength? The Beauty and the Brawn???) is kind of a big deal, partway through the fic, around 100,000 words in. So, yeah. Just a warning. Or a promise, to those who like the pairing, as I do. 
> 
> Let me know if you see any spelling or grammar mistakes. I write this on my iPhone, mostly in the dark with my glasses off. Yeah, I'm chaotic evil, what of it? Because of that, tenses may shift, since Apple seems to like present tense over past tense, and autocorrect keeps messing things up. And this story does not have a beta. We die like fools. I do edit, but I'm only one person, ya feel me? So feel free to point out any glaring mistakes if you'd like. :-)
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to mention! I drew the art for this chapter. It’s not the best work I’ve done, but I got so tired after the eighth or so hour that I just... stopped. I actually had to redraw the face since it originally was... not so good. So, yeah. :-)


	2. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *CW: talk about mild starvation and a character refusing to eat, even when clearly starving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Second chapter, here. Someone commented last week, saying that I kind of, well... repeated myself a lot, so I did my best to cut down on that here, as well as get rid of any unneeded sentences that added nothing to the plot. 
> 
> This chapter is kind of filler, just showing how Merlin and Arthur get along, as well as finishing up the whole "solicitor" nonsense. Still no idea why I called him a solicitor. What even is a solicitor? A law man, right? I'm, like.... 90% positive that's the wrong word for the job I gave Cerdan, but I have no idea what the right job is, so we're stuck here. I first wrote this story 5 years ago, just the first 3,000 words, and so quite a few points that made sense to 17 year old me have been lost to 22 year old me. If you know the right word for the job description that Cerdan has, please let me know. I think it was a job, accepting petitions for a king to potentially review, but I don't know the _name_ of it, ya feel me? 
> 
> Oh! But I'm officially a college graduate! I graduated Summa Cum Laude (highest honors), with a BA in psychology. Had my online ceremony yesterday and everything. Hecks yeah.
> 
> Anyway! Comments are appreciated! Thanks!

“Oi! Watch where you’re going, you clotpole! You nearly ruined my clothes!”

Arthur fumed, his hatred burning him as he clutched the now empty soup bowl to his chest, shirt covered in the scalding liquid, jaw clenched and aching. 

A week. He had been in Camelot one week. He’d been Merlin’s servant for four days, and God, was he ready to kill something. Or someone. 

Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it was going to be. 

It was so much worse. 

How could one man have so many things he needed to have done?! No wonder his last servant left, this man was a nightmare! Every day it was ‘Arthur’ this or ‘Arthur’ that, or ‘Arthur’ something bloody else! He was sick of it! He wanted to bash his head against a wall until he could no longer think!

And to make matters worse, his back still hurt. Thanks to Gaius it had healed, the scab turning into a shiny scar, but it would still twinge with pain whenever he exerted himself. Which was all the goddam time, with fucking Merlin running him to the bone. The fucker had magic! Why not use that to make his bed, or polish his boots, or, or clean his ceremonial robes?! And why did he have to muck out the stables, anyway?! They had stable hands for a reason!

At least that last one was familiar. While he and his mother could never afford a horse, Arthur had helped the rancher often enough to earn some extra gold that he was familiar with mucking out stables. He hated it, but it did remind him of home, a little. He could even pretend he was home, just mucking out Rancher Joseph’s horse stable. He could almost hear his mother, chiding him for not washing off before coming home, her nose wrinkled at the scent of horse dung.

Ah. His mother. He wondered how she was doing. He’d sent a letter a few days before. Or, well, Gaius had sent a letter, but had let Arthur write a tag on as well for no charge. Telling her that he was okay, but that he could not return home. Not if he didn’t want King Balinor’s wrath upon them. Gaius has assured her that he would take care of her son, but Arthur still worried about her. After all, who would take care of her now that he was gone? 

He also missed all his friends. Leon. Percival. Even Gwaine, the drunkard he was. Hell, he even missed his sister, Morgana. He never saw her often anymore, but she’d stop by every couple of weeks, her apprenticeship with the druids taking her farther and farther away. She was lucky. She had magic. He didn’t. He couldn’t leave. 

Most of all, though, he missed Gwen. Sweet, lovely little Gwen. Her father had helped him so much, teaching him swordplay illegally, giving him his knives. He’d even helped fix his father’s old sword, though it had been terribly illegal for the baker to do. When he had been executed, their family had practically adopted Gwen. And he…

Well. There was no use dwelling in the past. What’s done was done. And he hoped Gwen would understand that, one day. Prayed she could. Maybe they could have been something, once. But not now. Never now. Because he was here. Getting yelled at for spilling boiling soup on himself when Merlin was the one who had tripped him on purpose with his thrice damned magic. And she… she was at home. Free. Maybe Lancelot would finally make his move now that Arthur was gone. It boiled his blood to think it, but he had no other choice. This was his life. He hoped she’d be happy. For him, if for nothing else. 

And, despite the fact he hated himself for it. Despite the fact his pride burned. Despite the intense hatred he felt…

He bowed, as low as he dared, and bared his teeth at his master. 

“So sorry, Master. I’ll fix it right away.”

He marched away woodenly, dull eyes meeting the servant who stood outside, who looked at him with something akin to pity in her listless eyes. 

“His highness requires a new bowl of soup, if you could please get him one.”

He’d have gone himself, but he knew Merlin would hate that. Merlin hated everything he did. Merlin hated him. 

Well. The feeling was mutual. 

It was with barely repressed rage in his eyes that Arthur marched back to his master’s side. For once, Merlin looked almost… uncomfortable. Well. Good. He wasn’t the one with cooling tomato soup down his front, now was he? 

“You know you don’t have to call me that. Master,” Merlin clarified at Arthur’s bemused look. Ah. So, he didn’t like the title. Well, guess he knew what he’d be referring Merlin as from now on, he thought bitterly with a smirk. While it was humiliating, as long as it made _Mer_ lin upset, he would do it. Some things were worth more than bruised pride.

“Oh, you don’t like it, Master? I thought it suited you quite well, Master. After all, you are my Master, aren’t you, Master?” 

How he managed to put so much anger and rage in two syllables in the word Master, he didn’t know, but by God did he do it. There was a weird sort of glee at seeing the anger in Merlin’s eyes, the way his jaw clenched as he glared at him. His eyes flashed gold, but Arthur was no longer afraid of him. It was all Arthur could hope that he’d annoy Merlin so much he’d sack him so he could go home. Or maybe he’d just be beheaded. He didn’t know what was worse; death or serving Merlin for the rest of his damned life. 

At least his pride wouldn’t be tattered in death. Maybe it could even be a noble death, he mused, staring down as Merlin finally began to eat, the meats and fresh fruit more than enough for the thin boy. Maybe he’d be executed after trying to drown his bloody master in his bloody soup. Hey, maybe he’d even get a metal for trying to kill the bastard. 

Well. He could always daydream. 

He tried not to let his stomach rumble as he watched Merlin eat, starving like usual. Gaius had offered him food, but he refused to take more than the bare minimum. Not when he hadn’t been paid yet and had no money to offer the man. Letting him stay in his room was bad enough, for the pitiful work he did for the older man, but taking his meager food? No. 

He’d be getting paid… eventually, he was sure. He honestly didn’t know his salary. If he had a salary. Or if he was less a servant and more a slave. Should he get paid, then he’d take the food offered him. He didn’t want to be a burden.

He was excited, though. Today was his meeting with that fucking solicitor. How delightful. His entire purpose for coming here, here at last. He had hated it, but he had asked Gaius to force Merlin to give him time off to go to the meeting. His pride suffered, but maybe his people wouldn’t. They were still his, after all. No matter where he resided. He knew Merlin would never have allowed it alone, but he listened to Gaius, his respect for the old man high, so he got his time off. Just the afternoon, Merlin had threatened, eyes dark at the fact that he’d run to Gaius. Fine, Arthur thought. Just fine.

It would be his first time off since he started, though. So that was exciting. Yeah, he’d have to use it talking to the fucker Cerdan, but it was time away from Merlin. And that? That was priceless to him. God, he hated that prince. That spoilt, good for nothing, rotten, damned, dirty-

“Arthur! Come here! The soup’s ready and I need you to bring it to me.”

-bastard. 

Gritting his lips into a facsimile of a smile (that looked more like a man who’d been flogged), Arthur bowed his fake bow and marched towards the door. He had intended to say something mockingly nice, but the words had choked him, forcing him away. His stomach growled again, as he- carefully, minding his _master’s_ tricks- put the soup in front of Merlin. His chest still burned from the last soup, but heavens did it smell amazing. Not as good as his mother’s, no, but it was better than the nothing he’d been eating. He flushed red when he saw that Merlin heard, turning his face away so he couldn’t see the delight he was sure would be on that bastard’s face. 

Silence reigned for a moment as Merlin finished chewing his bread carefully, eyes focused intently on the soup in front of him. While Arthur did his best to ignore him, he found his gaze always returning to the other man. The prince who acted so crassly and childish that he could hardly be called a prince. 

And yet… Arthur could see it, sometimes. The regal gleam in his eye. The noble set to his jaw. He almost looked good, sometimes. Arthur would deny it to his dying day, but… Merlin wasn’t all that bad on the eyes. And sometimes he just… couldn’t look away. Try as he might. 

When Merlin finally broke the silence, Arthur had almost thought the prince had dozed off, staring as intently as he was at his soup. 

“Tell me, Arthur. When did you last eat?”

Oh. That fucker. How dare he? How dare he hold this over him, now? He heard his stomach. He heard how starving he was. Hell, Arthur knew how thin he looked. His muscles were prominent, as he plowed fields and lifted heavy crates all day, every day, not to mention the illegal sword practice, but his waist was almost deathly thin. While his mother was an amazing cook, she rarely had the money to make them the amazing food she could create. But when she did… oh. It was heaven. 

But he wouldn’t let this pissant taunt him with food. And so, despite his obvious hunger, he set his jaw and stared blankly ahead. He didn’t ignore the boy; no, he knew the consequences of that, he thought bitterly of his afternoon in the stocks, back aching from the hunched over position. But he didn’t answer as the bastard wanted. He didn’t beg. 

Pendragons didn’t beg. 

“This morning, Master. I’m quite full.”

His words were betrayed by his growling stomach, but he didn’t dare look at Merlin. They both knew he had lied.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin clench his jaw again, breathing out harshly from his nose, pissed. Ha. Take that, bastard. 

“Don’t lie to me, Arthur. I can hear your stomach from here. Now, I’ll ask again. When. Did you. Last. Eat?”

He punctuated each word with a deadly glare. Luckily, Arthur was immune. 

“I’m not lying, Master. I ate this morning. I have no need for anything else.”

Another growl. He could practically hear Merlin’s ears whistling with his rage. 

“And how much did you have to eat, Arthur? Don’t you dare lie to me. I’ll know.”

He said it darkly. Like he was trying to intimidate. Arthur had felt more intimidated by a puppy. 

“It was enough, Master. I’m fine.”

That was it, it seemed. Merlin slammed his hands on the table, stalking over to Arthur and glaring up at him. Arthur just looked at him pleasantly, like he hadn’t a care in the world. His racing heart betrayed him, but he refused to let that show on his face.

“Arthur, I swear to all you hold holy, if you don’t answer me…”

“But I am, Master.” With this, Arthur smiled almost pleasantly. He thought Merlin would have a conniption. Instead, against everything he thought he knew about the boy, Merlin deflated. It left Arthur feeling confused, eyebrows drawn together. He had thought for sure that Merlin would… well, do something. Not look at him with those big, blue eyes, something nameless swirling in their depths. It made Arthur’s breath catch, the beauty he saw astounding him. 

Before he could chastise himself for calling the brute’s eyes beautiful again, he felt Merlin’s breath puff against his face as the man in question bowed his head, his hair almost brushing his soiled shirt. He could feel the other boy’s warmth against him. Arthur, unwillingly, felt his heart begin to pound with something other than fear. What… what was he doing? Why… 

“Look just… just eat it. Alright? Just… fuck,” Merlin cursed softly, before looking him in the eye, eyes so impossibly soft. It was like a spring on a bright summer day. Cool. Refreshing. Breathtakingly beautiful.

That thought broke the spell. For it must have been a spell. He couldn’t have thought that about Merlin. He couldn’t... 

He jolted away with a snarl, forgetting a moment his place. Forgetting his vow to do as good a job as he could, to protect his people from Balinor’s rage. He sneered at Merlin, eyes burning with hatred. He wouldn’t accept the boy’s pity. He’d rather starve than accept that. 

“Fuck you,” he hissed, and contemplated spitting on the prince. But he didn’t fancy spending the rest of his life in jail, so he hoped the venom in his voice did the trick. 

It did. Merlin jolted back like he had been physically struck, eyes wide, like he was shocked that Arthur had refused him. Like he thought Arthur would beg, on hands and knees, for his master’s scraps. Well, he wasn’t a dog. And he begged for no man. He refused. He’d rather die of starvation first. 

The shock quickly turned to anger, the beautiful face quickly marring with a twisted rage. Arthur ignored the part of him that had ever thought Merlin beautiful and smirked back. 

“You little… I was trying to be nice, you dollophead! See if I try that again!” 

With that, Merlin stormed off, leaving the bowl of soup behind as he left for his daily routine. Arthur almost laughed at the new insult. Dollophead? Where the hell did Merlin come up with these? 

But it was no matter to him. He just cleared away the lunch, stomach growling fiercely as he saw the abandoned soup. He could feel himself salivate as he stared at the auburn liquid. But he wouldn’t eat it. Refused to give Merlin that satisfaction. Instead, he brought it back to the kitchen himself, handing it to a young serving girl who looked even more starving than him. He smiled kindly at her and told her that no one else had touched it if she wanted it. She couldn’t have been more than twelve, and she smiled at him so brightly. That made it worth it, he thought with a grin. Even as his stomach growled. Even as he felt the acid eating at the flesh. 

He may have lost his freedom, but he never could lose his honor. 

Not to the likes of Merlin. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

No one, at all, infuriated him the way that Arthur did. It was like… like a superpower! One look, a single glance was all it took to enrage the usually peaceful boy. 

And yes, he was usually peaceful. At least, he liked to think of himself as such. Sure, he was mischievous and liked to prank people, but it was all lighthearted fun!

Not with Arthur though. With Arthur it was something… more. Something… deeper. Like an instinctual pull within him, begging him to be cruel to the boy. To watch that anger, that righteous rage flood his eyes. There was something so hypnotizing, so… lovely about it. 

It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. This boy, this man had saved his life. Had tackled him and leaned over him and looked at him with wide eyes. Concern bleeding from his every pore. He had hated Merlin. Hated him, he knew it. And yet… and yet he had saved him. Him, the son of the man who had practically enslaved his people. How could he have saved him? 

He didn’t know. He knew Gaius was disappointed in him. Had seen the disapproval when Arthur had been released from the stocks and Gaius found out he had broken his word about not putting Arthur there. Had seen the quiet judgement when Arthur returned, back slumped and mouth twisted with pain. Had seen the sorrow when he looked at Arthur, the blame in his eyes when he looked back at Merlin. 

He knew it because he felt it himself. 

He was disgusted in his actions. A prince shouldn’t torment his servants. It was a gross abuse of power. It was cruel. It was unjust. Especially since Merlin knew something was paining the boy. Something was making him ache, his sorrow bleeding from him despite his best efforts. 

Merlin knew the boy hadn’t meant to stay in Camelot long. Had heard from him himself that he had only planned to stay a week. And yet, now, he couldn’t leave. Not without his father’s anger. Not unless Merlin sacked him, which he was surprisingly reluctant to do. He’d never been so enthralled by anyone before. He didn’t want Arthur to leave, to leave him behind. He’d suspect an enchantment, except he knew Arthur had no magic, could sense it in him. He was ordinary. Well, not ordinary. But not magical. 

It was just fun, teasing him. Taunting him. Seeing that rage, that quiet anger. Seeing him seethe. It was… 

He hated it. Hated how much he didn’t hate it. Hated how much he wanted to push Arthur up against the wall, wanted to feel that body against him, wanted to know what he-

But he couldn’t. Arthur was his servant. Arthur _hated_ him. And with good reason. He was awful. Terrible. The absolute _worst_.

And yet he couldn’t stop. 

It all came to a head on the fourth day of Arthur’s servitude. Merlin had just been having a bit of fun, using his magic to trip the servant up. But he hadn’t realized how hot the soup the servant had been carrying was. He could see the pain on Arthur’s face, though he quickly hid it as he went to get another bowl of soup. And suddenly, Merlin wasn’t hungry. Suddenly, Merlin felt like the scum of the earth. Suddenly, Merlin felt regret. 

He didn’t often feel regret. He tried not to, at least. He liked to think of himself as kind. Fair. Good. A person of the people. His people. 

But this? Making his servant, who had no magic, burn himself? Listening to his stomach growl, while he ate and ate and ate? No. This wasn’t good. He couldn’t pretend this was good. 

And so, he went to his servant. Stood before him. Let his regret bleed from him like Arthur’s sorrow bled from him. 

And he got his kindness spat back into his face. 

He should have expected it. Like hell would bloody Arthur be grateful. But it stung. He had wanted to help. He had only wanted to help. And yet.

And yet. 

Well, fine. Bloody, fucking _fine_. He didn’t need Arthur to prove he was a good man. He had done enough for his people to prove that. Screw Arthur and his judging eyes, his noble spirit, his kind smile (only ever directed towards others, like Gaius, never himself)… he didn’t need Arthur’s approval. He was a prince! He’d one day be king! He didn’t need anyone. 

And yet… 

And yet. 

When Arthur returned that evening, he looked so downtrodden that Merlin almost didn’t want to do the things he had planned to do. The little torments that ate him up inside. But he did them anyway. And watched, in dismay, as Arthur did nothing. There was no anger, no rage. Just… 

Resignation. 

Merlin knew he had gone to the solicitor today. Had petitioned for more grain and seed for his people, had heard it from Gaius. He assumed, then, that the boy had failed. Miserably. And Merlin… Merlin felt his heart ache. This proud boy, this noble man. He had come to Camelot, despite his obvious fear of magic, for his people. To help his people. And all he got for thanks was an unwanted job and what was essentially a prison sentence, not even the one thing he’d come here to get. It made Merlin’s insides churn. He hated it. He hated Arthur for making him feel this way. 

But that wasn’t true. 

It was with a sigh that Merlin gave up his torment, instead staring ahead in brooding silence as Arthur heated his bath. Merlin could do it, quite easily too, but he liked to watch Arthur struggle with it. He hated himself that he did. 

As he got out of his day clothes, he entered the bath, wearing nothing but his birthday suit. He felt eyes on his back, Arthur staring straight at him. It made his heart race, even though the eyes were indifferent. He understood. Not all men felt their blood sing at the thought of another man’s pale flesh. In fact, most men didn’t. It was he that was the outlier. He who was the freak. 

He shoved the thoughts away, anger filling him in its stead. He hated it. But he couldn’t stop it. 

“So, Arthur,” he began, voice silky smooth and false and _wrong_. So utterly, utterly wrong. Arthur’s eyes snapped to his, emotion simmering under the waves of icy blue, beneath the resignation. It took Merlin’s breath away, at first. He had to take a deep breath before he could continue. He almost wanted to stop, but the judgmental gaze made him continue. 

“I hear you met with the solicitor today. How did that meeting go?”

Oh. There it was. That beautiful rage. That simmering heat that made his nether regions swell, though he’d deny it. Arthur gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists so tight Merlin almost felt the phantom indents on his own palms. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. 

“Because I heard that the king is planning on cutting seed allowances again. I doubt he’d agree to increase any villages. Not even yours.”

He could hear the ragged breathing. Could feel the burning hate. It was what he had wanted. But suddenly… he found he didn’t want it anymore. Cruel smirk slipping off his face, he looked at Arthur plainly, eyes sad as he thought of all the people who would starve next year, seed allowances cut, but not the demand of portions of crop from the city. But what could he do? He was only the prince, not even the crown prince yet. And for all his father loved him (he was sure his father must love him, after all), he rarely listened. Not when it came to the non-magical folks. 

If anything, the look in his eyes seemed to make Arthur angrier, his eyes flashing as he strode forward, dropping to his knees as he glared deep into Merlin’s eyes. Deep into his soul. 

“I bet you’re so fucking pleased, aren’t you? So happy that my people, my friends, my family will _starve_ as you lord it up here in your ivory tower. Well, laugh it up. Laugh long and hard. One day, you won’t be laughing anymore,” Arthur hissed, voice low, a warm rumbling heat. Merlin shivered, irrationally afraid of this non-magical, mortal man. 

“Is that a threat,” Merlin intoned, eyes flashing, though he didn’t want to be so bitter. He had wanted to say something. Do something. Help. But he was stuck. Frozen. Naked in the tub that had once felt deliciously warm, but now was frigid. God. He hated it. Hated him. 

(No. He didn’t.)

“Maybe. Maybe it is. Or maybe it isn’t. Want to find out?” 

He was brave, Merlin thought breathlessly. He’d give him that. 

Merlin abruptly stood, momentarily forgetting his nakedness. He remembered as Arthur’s eyes widened, a red blush covering his cheeks as he bashfully looked away and scrambled to stand as well. It was so terribly endearing, even after the not-a-threat, that he felt his anger die down. With a sigh, he stepped out of the water, grabbing the towel Arthur had prepared for him earlier, and wrapping it around his waist.

Suddenly, he felt ancient. Like he was a thousand years old, instead of his measly twenty. He sighed again and turned to Arthur, who was resolutely looking anywhere but at him. He padded softly over to the man, his hand reaching up against his will and gently grasping that chiseled jaw and forcing icy blue eyes to meet his own, liquid soft ones. He didn’t know what Arthur saw in his face in that moment, but whatever it was made his back relax and his jaw loosen somewhat, his eyes melting into wide pools of blue. 

“I’m not. Glad. It’s my people who are suffering too. Maybe they don’t have magic. But they’re as much my citizens as anyone else. So, no. I’m not pleased. But my father does as he wills. I have no say in the matter. Not really. Now, get my night clothes ready. I’m tired.”

And he was. Tired. So goddamned tired. 

But he knew where he was going in the morning. 

It was time he paid Cerdan a visit. 

After all. It had been a while since he’d last seen Mordred. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

The rooms around him were familiar, though it had been a while since he’d been here last. He smiled as the serving girl, non-magical he assumed, welcomed him in with a large, probably fake smile. It’s alright. He didn’t care much. 

The man behind the desk looked up at his entrance, a wide smile lighting his features. 

“Ah! Young Emrys. Welcome, welcome. I’m sorry the place is such a mess. I’ve been very busy. So many peasants begging the king for more food, more land, more money. And Mordred still have that fever. No, this has been a busy time. But I’m so pleased to see you,” the man smiled, beckoning Merlin forward with a sweep of his hands. Merlin grinned as he went, bounding forward. He looked around, wanting to see if he could see the boy in question. Cerdan must have seen, as he just shook his head sadly. 

“Ah, unfortunately Mordred isn’t here today. He’s at home with his nanny, resting. You know how the boy is. Was there anything else you wanted? I can always have him fetched for you if you like.”

Cerdan said it casually, but Merlin saw the small frown on his face at the words. Best not, Merlin figured. Though he did miss the Druid boy. 

“Ah! No, that won’t be necessary. I was, uh… actually here to talk to you about work. You met with a young peasant boy yesterday? Should go by the name Arthur?”

Recognition filled Cerdan’s eyes, as a small scowl lighted his lips. Ah. That wasn’t good. He just hoped Arthur hadn’t insulted the man so much that he’d refuse Merlin’s request. 

“Ah yes. The non-magical boy. Came in around noon, rambling about a request for more grain and seed for his village come spring, how they barely had enough this year and begged for more next year. But you know as well as I that the king is restricting food for the majority non-magical villages. It’s punishment, for the rebellions that have been growing. I told him there was nothing I could do, and he began to yell at me. Something about how the children were already starving, they couldn’t take another cut. Honestly, I almost felt a little bad for the boy, though I know how non-magic users are. But the King’s word is law. I’m just the one who enforces it.”

Cerdan shrugged at that, not look particularly upset. Merlin had felt the way his hands clenched at that, not sure why it upset him. After all. Non-magic users hated his kind as much as his kind hated them. If it were their way, he and his family would be the ones in chains, slowly starving. Maybe even executed if his father was to be believed. He had to remember that. 

Still. Arthur had saved his life. He owed him this, at least. Especially given his recent behavior. So, what, if the boy never found out he was the one who vouched for him, because like hell would he ever tell him? Merlin knew the truth. That was enough for him. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get that. But do you think you could approve this one request? I mean,” Merlin hurried, wary of the shocked expression that filled Cerdan’s face, “just this one. Arthur, I mean the peasant boy, he uh… he saved my life. It’s the least I could do, yeah?”

He carefully didn’t mention that seeing that resigned, tired look in usually fiery eyes made his stomach churn something fierce. With guilt or something else, he didn’t know. 

“But, my prince… I cannot just approve one peasant’s request without good reason. Didn’t the king give the boy another reward? If I recall, he’s your serving boy now. That should be reward enough.”

Ha! A life of servitude, reward. Even Merlin knew how ridiculous that was. Especially without magic to make it easier. No, that was no reward. But this would be. 

“Yeah, yeah… but I just felt it deserved something… ya know, more? I mean, he saved my life Cerdan. That’s, that’s kind of important.”

Cerdan gave him a searching look, like he was trying to read him. For a second, he wished Mordred were there. He always made his father easier to deal with, as lively as the youth was. After a long moment, where Merlin kept his face carefully free of all emotions other than guilelessness, Cerdan sighed and nodded. 

“Alright. I suppose I can do something small. But I’ll have to say it was on your request. The king would have my head if he knew I was disobeying his laws willy-nilly. Are you alright with that, my prince?” Cerdan questioned, eyebrows up and mouth turned down. He was obviously displeased. Merlin could only grin in success, though, and nodded happily. 

“Oh yeah, yeah, of course! Thanks, Cerdan, you’re the best!” 

With that, Merlin bounded out of the man’s office, grin wide on his face. 

There. That should ease his guilt. He had helped his servant’s village, sparring them the food cut and even possibly providing something extra. At least the boy’s people wouldn’t starve immediately. Not if they knew how to grow wheat and seed, that was. 

With a happy little skip in his step, Merlin hummed as he made his way back to his rooms, eager to see Arthur. Not to tell him what he had done, no! He didn’t intend on telling Arthur that. He didn’t want his actions to be lorded over the boy, like he had done him some great favor. This was his actual repayment for saving his life, not something the boy had to feel indebted to him for. Definitely not. 

Even though part of him longed to see a reverent look in that insolent servant’s eyes. To see a look of surprised, chased away by heat as he realized what Merlin had done for him, all for him…

Ah. But those thoughts were not good. So, he pushed them away as he burst into his room, starling Arthur something fierce. He bit back a grin at the affronted look, the boy going back to polishing his boots. Say what he would, but Arthur was certainly diligent. Merlin wanted to taunt him about his work, but he could find no faults. Even without magic, the man took to his chores with a solemn intensity, like he was doing some highly important, noble task, not cleaning his dirty underthings. It was honestly impressive. Merlin was sure he wouldn’t have been able to do the same. God, he’d be an awful servant. He shuddered at the thought. 

“Is the room too cold, Master? Perhaps I can light the fire?” The boy’s voice cut into his thoughts, his own eyes wide as those fiery eyes landed on him. One look from those eyes, and he certainly wasn’t cold…

“What? Ah, no. I was just… just thinking. Carry on,” Merlin stated, grimacing that his musings had been noticed. But still, it pleased him, somewhere deep inside, that Arthur had been paying attention. Though, of course he was. He was his servant. Of course, he paid him mind. But still… still. 

He took a seat at his desk, rifling through the various papers there. He was slacking on his duties, he knew that. They were just so, so… _boring_. He hated them, honestly. He’d rather be out in the fields, running between the wildflowers and weeds and long grass, enjoying the midsummer heat, before the unusual chill entered the air at night. But no. He was stuck, here. Inside, with paperwork. Joy.

Groaning, he set about his work, making sure to keep an ear out for his favorite (ha!) servant. 

It was sometime later before Arthur came over with his meal, stomach growling like it had the night before. It made his stomach twist in knots, uncomfortable with having so much food when his servant had nothing. He could see Arthur staring at the bread with longing, and with nary a thought, he snatched the largest roll up and tossed it at Arthur’s head. He was privately impressed with the boy’s reflexes, watching as Arthur’s arm snapped up to grab the offending object before it got even close to his face, despite the boy having been looking off to the side when he’d thrown it. Merlin grinned at the indignant look Arthur gave, but quickly schooled his features. After all, he didn’t want to antagonize his servant. Not right now. 

“Excuse me, your highness. You don’t have to throw things at me,” Arthur hissed through clenched teeth, a blindly fake smile on his lips. Merlin tried to smother the mirth in his eyes, but obviously failed as those stormy blue eyes raged at him. He shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as he did. 

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so slow, I wouldn’t have to throw things, now would I?” Ah, but that came out wrong. He was trying _not_ to antagonize Arthur. He tried again, a grimace on his lips as the fury rose in those cerulean blues. 

“I mean… sorry. Or, not sorry. I mean, I just thought that you, well you’re a bit thin, and, and your stomach rumbling is getting on my nerves, so you should just, you know, eat it, or whatever,” Merlin rambled, wincing further and further back as the rage rose in the boy’s eyes, his face an attractive shade of pink. No, Merlin thought, eyes wide. Not attractive, definitely not… oh, who was he kidding. The boy was gorgeous. The prat. 

It wasn’t helping his desire to treat him better, though. 

“You know what, Merlin? I don’t think I will. I’m nice and full, from breakfast. I don’t need your bread,” Arthur hissed once more through his false smile, his words belayed by his growling belly. Oh, for the love of…

“Goddess, why are you so, so… pigheaded! I’m trying to be nice! Why can’t you just accept that?!” Merlin exclaimed, frustrated that his actions were being misconstrued like this. But all that that achieved was Arthur sealing off his expression, face a perfect mask even as his eyes leapt with fire. It chilled Merlin like nothing else had, and he had faced Mages far older and wiser than he was in mock battle. Nothing had scared him as much as this boy did. He had no idea why. 

“I am not a charity case. I will not accept your pity. You-you sorcerer, lording yourself in your ivory tower, high and mighty against those you deem lesser. I will never accept a single thing from you, not now. Not ever. I want nothing from you. You hear that? Nothing.”

Oh. Ohhhh. Merlin didn’t know if he should be furious or turned the fuck on. Because his groin was doing some funny things in his trousers, even as the anger rose in his chest. He pushed down the arousal as he stood carefully, eyes hard as he stared at his servant, blood singing in a way it hadn’t in so, so long. God, it was sick, but oh how he loved this. 

“I could force you, you know. Order you. Make you eat that bread. I’m your prince. You must obey me,” Merlin purred, his voice false and silky once more. He almost wanted to throw what he’d done that morning in Arthur’s face, taunt him, claim that if he didn’t need anything from him, then why couldn’t he have saved his village himself? But no. He didn’t want to hurt Arthur, despite what the other might think. Especially not with that. He hadn’t known Arthur long, but he had a feeling that would break the boy in a way he decidedly didn’t want.

Arthur let out a shuddering breath, eyes breaking contact from him as he glared, stonily, at the ground. In a fit of what Merlin would never call bravery, but it was, the prat set his jaw and threw the bread into the fire, staring as it burned. Merlin was, in spite of himself, very impressed. He’d never met such a brave, yet unbelievably stupid, man. Punishments filled his mind, from stocks to mucking all the stables. But as he saw the wounded look in Arthur’s eyes, the hunger that battled with his pride, he felt himself sigh, anger leaving him quickly, leaving him cold and unsettled. 

“Alright. Fine. You win. I just… don’t starve, alright?” Merlin muttered, going back to his food. He could hear Arthur shuffling behind him but refused to look back. He couldn’t. Couldn’t bear to see those cerulean blues judging him and finding him wanting. Since when he began to care so much for a simple servant, he had no idea. But, as he took a bite of meat and heard the grumbling stomach behind him, he vowed to find a way to help Arthur. The boy could just never know he’d done it. His pride wouldn’t allow him to accept. 

He was such a stubbornly proud man.

Merlin was impressed despite himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah! This was the second chapter. What do y'all think? The next chapter goes into the Valiant story line, which was hard to switch around, but I hope I did it properly. It's probably my least favorite story line of this entire fic, though. There are four main story arcs: the first arc was the first and second chapter, which had Merlin and Arthur meet and interact. The next arc is Valiant. The third I won't say, to not spoil things. And the fourth is where I diverge from canon entirely and go into my own plot, halfway through the story. I do not keep this story a rewrite, just so you know. It diverges after season 1. 
> 
> Oh! And if anyone is curious as to why Arthur refuses to eat, it's a pride thing. With Merlin, he refuses to make himself seem pathetic to a man he, kind of, hates. And with Gaius, he feels guilty taking from the older man. I don't know, I just see Arthur as a stupidly noble man who would do things like that, even when starving. If this bothers you, I'm sorry. I forget how long this goes on, but it does stop eventually, after a chapter or two. 
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all liked. I'm kind of getting disenchanted with this story, but I'll keep posting, if y'all like it. Even if y'all don't. I prolly with keep at it, since, I mean... it's mostly finished. 
> 
> See you next week!


	3. Valiant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of internalized homophobia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the delay, my computer is being all buggy and I was too frustrated to bother with it last night, so I just gave up. I think I've fixed it, hopefully, but I've not had the chance to read over this chapter and get rid of any repetition, so sorry. This also is the start of my least favorite story line, so I'm very 'meh' about it. 
> 
> That being said, I have some exciting (for me, at least) news! I've started writing a new Merthur AU! I'm about 30-40,000 words in (yes, already, I know), and it's coming along somewhat nicely. It's a Rebecca AU. What does that mean, you ask? Well, it's an AU where I put the Merlin cast into the story line for Daphne du Maurier's Gothic psychological thriller novel, Rebecca. If you've not read the book, I really recommend it. I read it two years ago for my college English class, and it's probably my favorite book that I've read in recent memory. Definitely my favorite classic novel. It's told from the first person perspective a mousy, unnamed woman who marries a rich man after knowing him for less than a month, then being swept up trying to be the Lady of the house, all while being haunted by the memory of her husband's perfect, deceased first wife, Rebecca. Things are not as they seem, though, which make it very chilling to read with no context. It's great, I promise. I hope the AU I'm writing lives up to it, even slightly, though I change a lot to make it fit our bunch of misfits. 
> 
> Anyway, I'll likely start posting that when it's done. I hope it won't take long. The book itself is only about 130,000 words, so it's not nearly as long as this story I've written is, so here's hoping. Keep an eye out for that, if you're interested. :-) 
> 
> Enjoy!

The castle was in a tizzy as everyone readied for the arrival of sorcerers from around the kingdom, sorcerers from high standing families that would compete in the magical tourney for the next three days. It was, apparently, a big deal. 

Which is why Arthur was forced to watch as his cursed master paced back and forth, worrying his hands as he bit his lip almost to point of bleeding. Arthur may hate the man with a burning passion, but even he was starting to feel bad with how obviously nervous the boy was. It had been a week and a half since he had first started his servitude to the terrible prince, and he had to admit that he… maybe, possibly… wasn’t all bad. 

That’s not to say he wasn’t bad! Oh, no, he was godawful. But, sometimes… sometimes, Arthur could almost pretend he saw something in those blue eyes of his. Something primal. Something… kind. 

He remembered Gaius’s words and couldn’t help but scoff. Kind. Merlin. Yeah, right. This was the person who took sick glee in watching him scrub floors ‘til his hands were raw and aching, despite the fact he could clean it so much easier and better with even a fraction of the power he held in his thin body. 

But still… sometimes, in the dark of night, as Arthur helped the prince get ready for bed, he thought that he could almost see it. There was a tilt to the boy’s mouth, a gleam in his eyes. The way he seemed to radiate a certain energy, powerful and yet… almost comforting. It made Arthur confused. And he _hated_ being confused. 

Especially when the man kept insisting that he eat his food. With wide, imploring eyes, filled with damned pity. It was getting harder and harder to deny the sorcerer, especially when he started ordering extra food, likely specifically for him. If he weren’t such a proud man, he’d have given in days ago. But he refused. Even as his hatred for the other boy waned (only a touch!), his deadly pride never would. He’d rather die than take anything offered in pity. His mother would cuff him around his ears if she heard him say that, but he knew the person he had got his pride from. And the thought made him smile. 

Instead he gave the extra food to the serving boys and girls around the castle, young faces filled with happiness and relief when Arthur gave them the simple breads and cheeses. Maybe he had failed his people, his home (which he was trying so hard to forget). But he could still help these people. It was something. 

Gaius was harder to deny, though. Arthur had still yet to be paid, even after a week and a half, so he still didn’t have the money to repay the older man, so he still refused more than the bare minimum. But still Gaius tried. Cajoling him with kindly eyes, so much like the grandfathers he’d seen other children play with that it was hard to deny him. But he refused to be a burden. The tasks he did for the man were barely enough to pay for the room, let alone board. And he respected Gaius too much to take advantage of his kindness. He’d be fine. So, he was getting thinner, so what? He’d be fine. Just tightened his belt and struggled through, ignoring the dizziness that began to plague him. He’d handled starvation before. His people were going to face it now, surely, since he had failed. And he had cost them an extra hand to help with the harvest. He was one of the strongest, after all. And he had, unwillingly, abandoned them. 

He made sure, no matter how dizzy he was, to practice his sword play in his room when he could. Gaius had promised him that he wouldn’t tell anyone if he desired to practice, that it would be good to keep his muscles working, so he didn’t lose any muscle mass if he could help it. He agreed. If there was one thing that he prided himself on, it was his swordplay. It had just come so easily to him. So naturally. Too bad the one thing he was truly good at was outlawed. Oh well. 

Merlin paced passed him once more, making him scowl deeply yet again. The ceaseless pacing was making him anxious too, damn him. The boy was worrying his hands, fiddling with his stupid silk neckerchief. Arthur sighed heavily, standing with his jaw set, pushing all thoughts out of his head. He saw Merlin startle, eyes wide as he watched Arthur stalk towards him, mouth slightly open when Arthur stopped before him. 

“Merlin,” he intoned lowly, eyes dark as they met the sorcerer’s baby blues. He watched with perverse pleasure as the sorcerer swallowed thickly, eyes darting briefly to his lips, before looking to the wall, face flushed. He ignored the pang the look gave him, focusing instead on the glee at having unsettled the other man. 

“Y-yeah?” Merlin stammered, biting his lip as he stared at the ground. Arthur had to tear his eyes away from the offending sight, placing his hand on the sorcerer’s shoulder, far gentler than he had planned. He almost gasped when Merlin’s eyes shot up to his, the gold flashing under the surface. Swallowing the emotion down, he gave a nasty smirk, closer to a grimace, as he leaned closer. 

“Would you stop pacing? You’re making me anxious.” 

It took Merlin a second to process the words, but when he did, his eyes widened with offense. Something in Arthur purred at the sight, the usually arrogant man imitating a fish as he opened and closed his mouth, sputtering. 

“Wha- I- You! You can’t, you can’t talk to me like that! I, I am well within my rights to, to pace, in my own rooms! You, you.... dollophead!”

Oh goodie, that insult again. Despite himself, he felt himself laugh, the first laugh he’d had since he arrived in Camelot. Or maybe his first in much longer than that… god, it had been ages since he’d last laughed, hadn’t it? The sound was almost foreign on his lips, startling him almost as much as it had startled Merlin. There had just been something so humorous about Merlin’s affront that he couldn’t help the sound. The prince had looked almost… dare he say, cute. 

They stood there for a moment, staring wide eyed at one another, before Arthur snorted and looked away, cheeks heating. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable. He tried not to stare as he saw a soft smile light up Merlin’s face in his periphery, a softer, more genuine smile than the cruel one he usually wore. It looked… nice, on him. Made his features soften, so that he looked more like a regular person than a warlock prince. Arthur was about to gather himself up and scowl, say something rude to ruin the surprisingly tender moment, when Merlin sighed softly and leaned forward, his head lightly resting on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur felt his heart begin to race, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tried to figure out what the hell the prince was doing. 

“I’m just nervous. This tourney is important to Camelot. It shows who is the best sorcerer in the land. If I fail… if I fail, I shame my father. And I can’t fail him. Not again. Not anymore,” Merlin whispered, his breath fanning over Arthur’s chest, eyes closed as he pressed closer. 

Fuck. Shit. Jesus, God damn. 

The hell was he supposed to do? He barely tolerated this man, this boy. What the hell was he supposed to do here? Comfort him? He was just a servant! Why was Merlin looking to him for comfort in the first place? Didn’t he have friends to offer him the comfort elsewhere?

But… but maybe he didn’t, Arthur thought, absently moving his right hand up and hovering over Merlin’s shoulder, internally debating whether or not he should place it down. After all, he’d never really seen Merlin interact with the other sorcerers, or even the Mages he trained with daily. Outside of Freya and Gaius, he seemed to mostly stick to himself. And one was his father’s female ward and the other an old man. Maybe he didn’t really have any male friends his age to talk to. 

Well, he still didn’t! Arthur was far from his friend. In fact, he still fancied himself hating the other boy. Man. Whatever. Yeah, so maybe Arthur couldn’t get the other out of his head. Maybe he couldn’t stop thinking, late at night, about the way Merlin had looked when he’d finally finished his paperwork, smile soft and pleased, the look briefly landing on Arthur before the prince would smirk cruelly at him. So, maybe the way the boy looked when he was flushed, red hot with anger and affront, wouldn’t leave his head, even as he took himself in hand late at night and tried to lose himself to sensation. Maybe he couldn’t forget Merlin’s fucking eyes, blue and gold and utterly enchanting in their own right. Maybe. Maybe. 

He still was the rudest, cruelest, most arrogant man he’d ever met. And that fact didn’t change, even now, as Arthur felt soft breath hit his chest, his mind blithely wondering how that breath would feel against his bare skin. Even now, as Merlin showed a side of himself so vulnerable that Arthur felt that if he breathed too hard, he’d shatter the man in front of him. This meant nothing, changed nothing. Right?

He had no idea what to do. He’d never been good at comforting people. Even after Gwen’s father died, he hadn’t been much help, face flushed as he stumbled through awkward, ungraceful words. Hesitantly, he placed his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, startling the boy, causing his eyes to open and start straight into his, the watery blue drowning him. 

Unbidden, words rose to the surface, only partially frantic as he tried to find a way out of this situation. 

“Come on, Merlin. Stop being such a girl. Are you or are you not a sorcerer? The greatest in the lands, from what I’ve heard. You’ll do fine. And you know it. So, stop trying to garner sympathy and do whatever it is you sorcerers do to prepare. Or whatever.”

Well. They weren’t the most graceful word, but they seemed to do the trick. Merlin graced him with a rare, blindingly bright smile, eyes crinkling with what Arthur dared to call happiness. Like Arthur had said exactly the right thing. Like he’d done something very, very right. The smile faded after a moment, but didn’t leave his lips completely, even as he stepped back and nodded his head towards Arthur. And when he took a seat at his desk, eyes closed as he took deep breaths, like he was meditating, well. Arthur carefully didn’t look. 

Because it meant nothing. Merlin was his master. Cruel and unjust, trapping him here against his will. Forcing him to do menial tasks that he could do with a wave of his pompous hand. Sneering at him from his high horse, so arrogant it hurt. 

That’s all that mattered. 

Nothing else. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Merlin couldn’t help the shot of nerves as he stood in the tent, the roaring crowd making him nauseous. Oh, God. He couldn’t do this. He, he barely knew anything. He was a fraud! He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He-

“ _Mer_ lin, honestly. Stop fretting. You’re acting like a girl and it’s annoying. Just relax, won’t you?”

Merlin scoffed, eyes dark on the other boy, who gave him a cocky, lazy grin. It was much nicer than his usual, angry baring of his teeth that he pretended was a smile. He ignored the flutter in his stomach as he scowled. 

“Stop calling me a girl. And that’s easy for you to say! You’re not the one about to make a fool of himself in front of the entire kingdom!” Merlin hissed, stomach churning with nerves. He let out a high-pitched whine that was mortifying, but he couldn’t help. God he was nervous. 

Arthur tsked, clearly spending too much time with Gaius, as he smoothed down Merlin’s ceremonial robes again, eyes rolling. 

“You’re not going to embarrass yourself. I may not know much about magic, but I’ve seen you practice. You’re... good. I guess.”

The compliment was awkward, the boy looking away with a scowl as soon as the words left his mouth, but they soothed Merlin like nothing else. He knew how much his servant hated him. Even though it pained him to admit it. So, a compliment from him, even a halfhearted one, meant more than the promises of his greatness from his advisors and mentors. It, oddly, helped him calm down as he smiled absently at his servant, adoring the light blush that rose on the boy’s cheeks. 

“You mean that?” He breathed, eyes shining as his world narrowed to the other boy, watching as he rolled his eyes and gently nudged his shoulder. 

“Yes. Now stop fishing for compliments. The tourney’s about to start and you need to be out there when it does.” 

Well. Here went nothing. With a deep breath, he marched out of the tent, head held high as he was met with a roaring applause. He considered thanking Arthur but figured it wouldn’t be a wise idea. He’d probably just fuck it up and make the man angry at him again.

This wasn’t his first tourney. He’d been a part of many others, ever since he’d been in his teens. And he’d won them all, no problem. But this one just felt so important. He was to be crowned crown prince later this year when he turned twenty-one. And with all the rebellions that were scattering the kingdom, he needed to showcase his strength and power, to let anyone who dared defy him know who the powerful one was. 

So, as he stood in front of his kingdom, his people, he did his best to hide his nerves, grinning up at their adoring faces. And if his eyes strayed to the side often, where Arthur stood, Gaius by his side, both men smiling soft smiles, well. No one had to know. 

He barely remembered the first few rounds of the tourney, magic strumming through his veins as he wielded its terrifying power. He didn’t get hit once, even as his opponents fell one by one, again and again. He was grinning up at the crowd by the fourth round, shaking his arms in victory as the crowd chanted his name. Oh yeah. He could get used to this. 

It was halfway through the tourney that he took his first break, barely breaking a sweat as he sauntered into the tent set up for the sorcerers to prepare, cocky grin on his lips. The grin faded as he saw Gaius and Arthur frowning down at something on the table, heads pressed together. Huh. 

Merlin moved forward, wanting to see what they were looking at, and gasped when he saw a young sorcerer, dead on the table. 

“Oh no! What happened?” Merlin cried, startling the two men. Arthur turned a glare on him while Gaius just looked at him nervously. 

“I’m afraid I’m not certain, your highness. It seems that young Sorcerer Birkitt has faced an unfortunate accident. He had been facing sorcerer Valiant when he had abruptly fallen, eyes drained of light. No magic could rouse him. The cause of death wasn’t magical, though, so it didn’t go against the rules. He just seemed to have… well, passed away.” 

What? But how can someone just… die like that? Like… like nothing? No magical cause or anything. It didn’t make sense. 

“Does he have any wounds?” Merlin questioned, frown on his lips. Gaius shook his head, giving a shrug. 

“None that I can see. It’s possible he just used too much of his magic all at once. It has been known to happen.” 

Yes… but it was awfully strange. Merlin had known Sorcerer Birkitt. Not well, but he knew he was a formidable foe. He had honestly been one of the ones Merlin had been nervous to face. To have died so suddenly, from an over exertion of magic… it made no sense. 

Arthur, however, hummed, eyes narrowed. Merlin looked at him abruptly, frown on his lips. 

“Oh? And do you have any theories, Arthur?” Merlin drawled, trying to hide his nerves with cocky indifference. He knew his limits. He wouldn’t end up like this sorcerer, dead from foolishly using his magic too carelessly. Arthur scowled at him, like always, but moved towards the body. Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Gaius held up a hand, halting his comments. He did so, but only with an annoyed pout. Frown! An annoyed frown. Prince’s didn’t pout. 

Merlin watched as Arthur examined the body, not seeming concerned at the fresh corpse before him. Maybe he’d seen death before. Who knew? Nothing happened for long minutes, and Merlin was starting to grow impatient. He had just opened his mouth again, annoyance no doubt about to color his words, when Arthur let out a noise of triumph, lifting the Sorcerer’s robe enough to show a small, thin wound at the base of his sternum. It looked so unassuming that Merlin would have overlooked it had Arthur not pointed it out. 

“Like I thought. It’s a stab wound.”

Merlin snorted, looking at Arthur with unimpressed eyes. 

“A stab wound? No offense, Arthur, but it looks more like a pin prick than a stab wound. He likely cut himself on his bed or something.”

Arthur scowled harder, eyes set as he glared at Merlin. Merlin ignored the rush of heat, as now was most definitely _not_ the right time. 

“No, you idiot. It’s a stab wound. Look, it may look small, but it runs deep. I’ve seen similar wounds before, back home, from people who were attacked by bandits. It’s likely done by a stiletto blade, a thin knife that can be easily concealed on the body. Usually women use them, to protect themselves from unwanted suitors. They’re not usually deadly, but if you stab it in just the right place, like the base of the heart, you can sever the arteries, causing internal bleeding and immediate death. Whoever caused this wound knew what they were doing,” Arthur murmured, eyes dark as he stared at the wound. Merlin couldn’t help the way his mouth opened in shock, impressed despite himself. How the hell did the other boy know so much about stab wounds…?

Before he could say anything (and he was getting tired of being interrupted, thank you very much), he heard Gaius gasp, the older man leaning forward as he examined the wound. 

“Why, yes Arthur, I think you might be right. I hadn’t even noticed, the tear on his robe so small I figured he’d have torn it on something. I’d never have thought that to be a stab wound, either, even if I had seen it, but you’re clearly right. You’ve got a good eye, Arthur”, Gaius praised, making Arthur flush beautifully, a pleased but bashful smile on his lips. It made Merlin’s mouth run dry, but he shook it off as he frowned, looking at the wound. 

“Yeah, but there’s only one problem. My father banned the usage of such weapons years ago, claiming them to be cowardly and worthy of a swift death. They can only ever be used in self-defense and can’t ever be practiced with. How could someone have used such a weapon against Sorcerer Birkitt, especially with such knowledge of how to kill using it?” 

It was a good question. This was a tourney showcasing magic, after all. Why would anyone bring an illegal weapon in and dare to use it, right under the king’s nose, no less? Arthur just hummed, staring at the wound. 

“Who was he facing, when he was stabbed,” Arthur questioned, eyes landing on Gaius. Well, Merlin could have told him that. It was-

“Sorcerer Valiant, I believe. He’s a formidable foe, from a noble family. I dare say I doubt he would break the law like this,” Gaius stated, though he frowned, like he was mulling it over. 

“Yeah. But wasn’t Sorcerer Birkitt an odds-on favorite? I’ve heard the other servants whispering about him. To have him die so suddenly, of a wound that can only kill immediately…” Arthur trailed off, eyes significant as he looked between Merlin and Gaius. 

But… that was ridiculous! He could never accuse such a powerful sorcerer of cheating, especially when the price of such a cheat was immediate death. If Merlin were wrong… if he accused the man falsely… well, he’d face his father’s wrath, that’s for sure. But still, if what Arthur said was true, he couldn’t let Valiant get away with this. It wasn’t right. 

Part of him briefly wondered if Arthur were lying, trying to trick or deceive him, but Merlin knew that Gaius would never go along with such a prank. If Gaius believed Arthur, well. So, then, would he. 

“How can we get proof,” Merlin asked, jaw set and eyes hard. Arthur shared a look with Gaius, then shrugged. 

“We’ll have to search his rooms, I guess. See if we can find his stiletto blade. If we find it, we can prove he’s been cheating.”

“Oh yeah, let me just search the rooms of a respected sorcerer, no one will care about that at all. No, you clotpole! I can’t just search his rooms with no reason, father would kill me!” Merlin hissed, rolling his eyes. Arthur just rolled them back, huffing out a breath. 

“Well then I can do it. I’m fairly quick and quiet, when I want to be, at least. I’ll search his room and find the blade. It’ll be easy.”

Unbidden, Merlin felt his heart clench, eyes wide as he looked at the indifferent expression on Arthur’s face. Like it meant nothing. Like he regularly broke into sorcerer’s rooms and poked around. Then he felt a chill fill him, as he thought of all that could go wrong, of Arthur getting hurt- or worse- dying for this cause. As much as he hated cheating, he couldn’t let Arthur do this. Not while knowing what could happen to the boy if he failed. 

“No,” Merlin grounded out, eyes hard. Arthur’s eyes flashed, anger filling them quickly, but Merlin wouldn’t hear it. He crowded Arthur back, making his back hit the edge of the table not holding a corpse, face inches from his servant’s. “You will do no such thing, you hear me? I forbid it. I am your prince and master, and you will obey me. Do you understand?” He hissed, fear filling him as he thought of everything that could happened to his brave, stupid servant if he were caught. And he would be caught. He had no magic to defend himself with. He’d surely be caught and sentenced to death. He couldn’t let that happen. Not to Arthur. Not to… to his _friend_. Christ. How pathetic was he that he considered a man who hated his guts a friend?

Arthur didn’t care about his concern, though. Didn’t realize he was doing this to protect him, the foolish, brave, reckless boy. He just set his jaw, eyes molten steel, anger radiating from his every pore. It made Merlin ache, but he could take his servant’s anger. He could take his rage. He couldn’t take his death. He’d only known Arthur for a little under two weeks, but if anything happened to him… well. He didn’t dare think it. His heart couldn’t take it. 

Before Arthur could spit something back at him, vitriol surely thick in the words, he heard the horn that signified the return of the tourney, meaning he was facing his next challenger. With a hard look, Merlin swept from the room, his heart beating fast as he feared for his servant. For the man he had, unwillingly, fallen in lo- 

But no. He hadn’t. He was a prince. Arthur was a servant. He wasn’t in lo- he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Besides, it had only been less than two weeks, he couldn’t- well.

And so, he lost himself in the battle, let his magic run through him as he fought with all his heart, magic singing in his veins. This. This is what he loved. His magic. Fighting. Showing the world how powerful he was. 

This, he loved. 

Not insolent serving boys. 

Definitely not. 

(And if he missed the bright blue eyes of a certain serving boy watching him, the boy nowhere to be seen, well. 

No one had to know.)

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

That’s it. He officially hated Merlin again. Well, not again. He’d never really stopped. But that strange admiration he felt for the boy, which only grew as he had watched him fight, his movements so fluid and graceful, far from the clumsy boy he was outside the arena? The admiration for the way his body hummed with power, no longer suppressed as he let it loose, blinding to look at? That was gone. He no longer felt anything but pure rage, the silent moment in Merlin’s room forgotten in his fury. 

How dare he order him around?! Yes, he was his master. Yes, he had the right to order him to do whatever he pleased. But he had thought… he had assumed…

Well, he thought wrong, he thought angrily, arms crossed across his chest as he laid on the thin mattress, glaring at the ceiling, not caring he was shirking his duties. Clearly, Merlin cared for no one but himself. Typical sorcerer. 

After all, who cared if Merlin faced that sorcerer, the lying cheat, using an illegal blade in a magic fight? Who cared if Merlin were stabbed, so fast and quick and skillful that no one could stop it? Who cared if Merlin died, bright blue eyes wide and stone cold in death? Who cared?

Not bloody him. That’s for sure. 

And if he had to push away the gnawing in his chest at the thought, well. Who cared? He could just pretend it was the ever-present hunger, slowly eating away at everything he was. Soon he’d be nothing but ash, he knew, his stomach tearing him apart from the inside out. His stomach, of course. That’s what hurt. Not his heart. 

He let out a harsh breath, sitting upright and standing to pace the too small room. Great. Merlin had infected him with his bloody pacing. Wonderful. 

He had to do something. If not for Merlin, then for the other sorcerers that would face Valiant. Yeah, sure, he hated sorcerers, but they didn’t deserve to die in an unfair battle. It was unjust! A warrior deserved to die in a fair fight, and sorcerers were no exception. 

Though… a lot of sorcerers were cheaters. They used magic and spells and anything at their disposal to lie and cheat and steal. Did Arthur really care if they died? Maybe they’d finally get a taste of their own medicine. 

But…

But he couldn’t get the unseeing eyes of Sorcerer Birkitt out of his head. The youth in those empty eyes. The fear. He had watched the man die, had seen the blade plunge in. That’s how he knew he’d find the wound. 

It just wasn’t fair. No, sorcery wasn’t fair either, but it had its rules. Like swordplay. If one party broke those rules… chaos ensued. 

So, no. Arthur couldn’t just sit by as Valiant murdered people. It was wrong. And nothing Merlin said could stop him. He knew he was right. Knew it like he knew the sky was blue. What kind of man would he be if he ran from this? If he ignored what was right for what was easy? 

Mind made up, Arthur yanked open the door, almost flying backwards as he nearly slammed into the man standing before him. For a heart stopping moment he thought it was Merlin, there to stop him, like he knew what Arthur was thinking of doing. Instead, as the shock faded, he noticed the wide eyes of Gaius staring at him, a plate of food in his hands. Arthur let out a breath and shook his head, smiling kindly at Gaius as he carefully righted the old man. 

“Gaius! I’m sorry, didn’t know you were there. Is there something you wanted?” Arthur asked, carefully not looking at the delicious smelling sandwich the man carried. He felt his stomach growl as he smelled the salty meat, the sweet bread, the fancy cheese. Oh. It had been so long since he’d had such a fine meal. And it would be even longer, he told himself grimly, unwilling to take from Gaius when he’d done so much for him already. 

“Well, yes my dear boy. I was hoping you’d grace an old man with your charming presence at dinner tonight. It’s been quite some day and I could use the company,” Gaius claimed, voice soft as he looked Arthur in his eyes. Arthur swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to look away. It wasn’t the first time he’d joined Gaius for a meal. But he always refused the food, insisting that it should go to Gaius. Usually the food went to waste, Gaius as stubborn as he was, which he regretted, but he couldn’t take more from the man than he already had. He couldn’t. Eventually he’d see that. Especially if he were to live here the rest of his life.

Still, Arthur nodded carefully as he pushed the thought out of his head, feeling a bit wary as he followed Gaius as he marched down the stairs into the main room. The main table was covered in books and vials, various potions scattered all around. But there were two places cleared, across from one another. One had a plate before it, a similar sandwich atop it, the other being where Gaius set the plate down in front of, holding out the chair for Arthur. 

An embarrassed flush on his face at being treated like a fucking girl, he took a quick seat, offering a murmured thanks. Gaius just nodded and sat down, carefully eating his meal. Arthur didn’t touch his, though his stomach ached. He’d only had a small piece of bread that day. He was so hungry…

“So. You seem to have done a good job identifying the cause of murder today. We might make a good physician of you yet!” Gaius exclaimed, a pleased, almost proud grin on his face. Arthur flushed again, hiding his face in the glass of water he was taking a sip from. 

“A-Ah. It was nothing. I, uh. I had seen the blade go in. Saw Valiant stab him. So. It wasn’t that big of a thing.”

Gaius hummed, drawing Arthur’s attention back on him, the kind eyes almost too much for the malnourished man. He looked down again, a lump in his throat. He’d never had someone look at him so kindly, so parental. Not someone who wasn’t family, at least. Even Tom, Gwen’s father, hadn’t looked at him like that. Like… like a father would. It hurt. Especially after all the ways he had failed, recently.

“It was still impressive that you noticed it. If I recall correctly, the same thing happened at the feast last week as well. You noticed the danger before anyone else, moving yourself to protect, even though you didn’t much care for the recipient of that protection. You are a good man, Arthur. Noble. Far nobler than half the sorcerers in that tourney, I can tell you that.”

Okay. That was enough. He felt tears rise to his eyes at the words, unbidden. He didn’t even really know why. He was just so tired, hungry, and felt so alone. He’d failed his people, he couldn’t forget that. Couldn’t forget how that bastard sorcerer had looked when he’d blandly said, ‘I’m sorry, but I cannot grant your request,’ before he’d denied the one thing that Arthur had come to this godforsaken city to do.

To be told that he’d done good, that he was a good man, despite it all… it hurt him somewhere deep inside, though it also made his heart fill with a strange ache he’d never known before. He hated it. Hated it so much. Hated how much he didn’t hate it. How much he longed to be held and told that he was doing good. That he, himself, was good. He felt like such a child, such a girl, but he couldn’t help it.

He scrubbed his eyes as he looked down, shrinking into his seat as he heard more than saw Gaius stand, his footsteps heavy in the pregnant air. He felt his heart stop when Gaius stopped before him, the older man kneeling before him, kind eyes catching Arthur’s by force. 

“I know what you are planning, Arthur. I know what kind of a man you are. So brave. So noble. Unwilling to allow such treachery to go unpunished.” At Arthur’s panicked look, Gaius just clucked, shaking his head. “I will not stop you, foolish boy. But I beg you, please. Eat something. I could never live with myself if something happened to you, especially when I could help it. You are a growing boy. You need food to fill your belly. I assure you, I have more than enough to share. Please, Arthur. If not for me, then surely, you’ll do it for your mother? She’d hate to know you’re starving, so far from home. She always did her best to keep you fed. So please. Eat.” 

Oh. Great. He tried to stop them, but he couldn’t stop the tears that filled his eyes at the gentle words, reminded of the mother he missed more than anything, a soft sob filling the air before he could stop it. God, he was mortified. How pathetic was he? Crying, like a little girl, at a few kindly words. Pathetic. 

But… but it felt nice, he realized, when Gaius swept him up into a tight hug, deceptively strong arms holding him tight. He hadn’t ever had a hug like this. His mother, bless her, was always so much frailer, so dainty. She hugged him tight, but never like this. Never like… 

Like a father would. 

More tears fell at the thought, his arms wrapping around Gaius back, holding him as tight as he dared. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough, but it was something. He was too afraid of breaking the man before him to use his whole strength, like he always was with his mother, Morgana, or Gwen. And he never hugged his male friends. It was unmanly. 

But this… this was something, eyes leaking shameful tears. 

And yet, as Gaius hugged him, whispering understanding words in his ear, he didn’t feel the white, hot shame that he usually did at such a brazen show of emotion. No. Instead he felt…

Warm. 

Safe. 

_Loved_.

It felt like eons before Gaius slowly backed away, blue eyes soft like a lake. Arthur would have hastily wiped his eyes, but he felt he didn’t have to. Yes, some shame filled him as he looked at the other man, but mostly he felt safe. Loved. Like he didn’t need to hide, to put on the brave front he always wore. At home. At Camelot. Even in his own room. But here, with Gaius? Here, he was safe. Here, he could cry and not have to hide it. Here, he was loved. He was sure of that.

“Please eat, Arthur. I beg of you,” Gaius repeated, imploring with his words and eyes. And Arthur…

Arthur crumbled. 

The first bite was incredible. The best thing he had ever tasted, sweet and salty and just… fuck. It was so good. He finished the sandwich in three bites, stomach still growling but satiated for the moment. Gaius grinned at him, eyes warm and happy as he watched his apprentice eat. And he was. Gaius’s apprentice. He vowed, at that moment as he watched Gaius watch him, that he’d learn from the man, let him teach him about medicine and healing. Maybe he couldn’t do magic, but he could mix plants together to make pastes. He wouldn’t be useless, to Gaius. He’d earn his keep, earn the food Gaius gave him so freely. Earn the love that he’d done nothing to deserve. Yet. But he would. He swore, to his ancestors, may they Rest in Peace, that he would. 

And he would start by finding proof that Valiant was cheating. By being a man worthy of such unconditional love. 

Merlin’s order be damned. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Arthur looked good, he thought absently, as his servant filled his water cup before his breakfast. 

Arthur had ignored him the previous night at dinner, staring blankly ahead as the sorcerers sat and feasted. Merlin couldn’t help the thought then that Arthur looked… different, but he couldn’t place how. He realized now. 

Arthur no longer had that hollow look on his face, regal cheeks so gaunt he looked moments from death. They had a hint of roundness to them. Not much, oh no. But it was clear he had eaten something, finally. Merlin had been starting to think that the boy had been starving himself on purpose, like those women he had heard of who starved themselves to look thin and ‘pretty.’ Like a person who was no more than skin and bones and obviously unhealthy could ever be beautiful… but, to each their own, he supposed. 

But Arthur wasn’t a blushing maiden, desiring to look desirable. No. He was a strong, capable young man. A growing boy who needed food. 

So, he was glad the boy had finally eaten something. He probably had Gaius to thank for that. He had gone to the man earlier in the week, privately, sharing his concern. Gaius had just frowned at him and informed him that he shared his fear, but that he would do everything in his power to persuade his young ward to eat. They both knew how stubborn the blond could be. Merlin knew, though, that if anyone could do it, Gaius could. Gaius could do anything, Merlin was certain. 

And here the boy was, that hunted look in his eyes waned with a couple good meals. God, he looked so good like this. All warm edges and hard muscle. Merlin wanted… he wanted…

Well. 

He cleared his throat, catching Arthur’s attention. When those icy eyes landed on him, though, the cold fire simmering under the ocean, Merlin found himself freezing. Jeez. It had been a while since he’d seen such abject hatred from the other boy. It stung something fierce. But he could deal with it. As long as Arthur stayed alive, he could deal with it. 

“Was there something you wanted, Master?” A dull, dry voice asked, Merlin startling as he realized it had been a minute and he hadn’t said anything. He licked his dry lips, trying not to feel the pang when Arthur’s eyes didn’t trail the pink tongue like they usually did. Fuck. He’d fucked up. 

Oh well. Taking a deep breath, he smirked as well as he could, trying to muster as much false courage as he could. 

“So. Day two of the tourney today. Will you be watching, then?” 

He said it like he was teasing. Like he didn’t care. But he did. Oh, God. He did. 

“I don’t know. I don’t see much point, do you, master?”

Ah. That stung. Swallowing his eggs dryly, nearly choking as it slid painfully down, he took a sip of water to delay his response. Finally, he thought himself ready to look up and meet those dull, simmering eyes. 

“Ah. I, uh. Suppose not. Though, you are supposed to be there, to, to freshen my robes. B-between each round,” Merlin stammered, heart pounding in his chest. He hated the way Arthur’s eyes slid over him, like he was nothing. Nothing more than dirt on his shoe. It was infuriating. It was insulting. 

It hurt. 

“Well then, I suppose I’ll be there, master. Whatever you wish. Master.”

He only said it to taunt him. He didn’t actually mean it. But it tore at him anyway. Yes, he was the boy’s master. But... he hated being reminded of it. Of the freedom he had stolen. That’s why Arthur did it, he knew it. Because Merlin clearly hated it. It still stung. 

Silence reigned after that, as thick as it had been the first few days. He couldn’t believe he actually missed the companionable silence that they had somehow fallen into over the past week. He hadn’t even noticed it. Not until it was gone. 

Finally, he couldn’t take anymore. He slammed his fork down and stood up, crowding against Arthur like he always did, eyes angry as they stared into cool blue. But Arthur didn’t back away. He didn’t cower. He’d gotten over his fear of Merlin. And Merlin… he missed it. Not because he wanted Arthur to fear him. No. But because it meant that the boy expected his cruelty. And he hated that thought. 

But he couldn’t back down. Not now. 

“Look. I know you’re angry at me. I get it, alright? But I didn’t forbid you for nothing. You can’t put yourself in danger, Arthur. You don’t know what they’d do to you.”

He tried to hide the way his voice cracked at the end. He’s fairly certain he failed. 

He waited for the anger. For the vitriol. For Arthur’s bitter hatred. But instead, he watched in amazement as Arthur’s eyes softened a touch, some of that solid ice melting into water. Not all. But some. Enough. 

“I can’t just stand by as he kills innocent people. I’m not a coward, Merlin. I’ll take the punishment. _If_ I’m caught. But I won’t be. I promise you that.”

So, he was still planning on breaking into Valiant’s room. That brave, stupid fool. He wanted to hate him. If only his heart would get with the picture. 

Merlin let out a mirthless laugh, hand raising to rest lightly on Arthur’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall, the feel of his heart, beating faster and faster. He bowed his head and shook it, still chuckling. 

“I could throw you in the dungeons. I could put you in the stocks for the remainder of the tourney. I could do it, Arthur. I could,” Merlin warned, voice low, eyes imploring. Arthur just smiled softly, ruefully, eyes softer still. It was not what Merlin had expected. Nor had he ever expected the soft fingers caressing his cheek, so soft and sweet, his breath leaving him in a ragged gasp, eyes impossibly wide as he stared at the look in those mysterious blue pools. Why did they always find their way back here? So close, and yet so very far? 

“I’d never forgive you if you did. I’d hate you, ‘til the end of time. You know I would,” Arthur breathed, breath fanning Merlin’s lips like a gentle kiss. Oh, he was fucked. His throat was so dry, but he valiantly (ha) swallowed as he tried to get words out of his addled mind. 

“You think I’d care? A servant who hates me is better than a servant who is _dead_ ,” Merlin stressed, his voice cracking but he didn’t care. Did this fool not care about himself? God almighty. Save Merlin from such foolish men. 

Arthur just smiled, his eyes soft once more, looking at Merlin like he was something adorable. Like a puppy, yapping at him, begging him to stay forever. 

“I think you would. You try to hide it. But I know you care. So, help me. We can do this. Together.” 

Welp. He was fucked. Well and truly fucked. He might as well sign his death warrant now. After all, this man? This man would be the death of him. 

He knew, somehow. Merlin had thought he was being careful, thought he was being wise. Thought he had hidden his feelings well enough. But he clearly, clearly hadn’t. It was probably written all over his face. His father had always called him a bleeding heart. 

Arthur probably didn’t even care about him at all. Arthur wasn’t the type to fancy men. He was all muscle and hard lines and masculinity. Not like Merlin, who was softer, daintier. Closer to a girl than a man, he thought mirthlessly. Arthur was probably just using him. Like so many others had used him…

Well. Fine. He’d play Arthur’s game. He’d follow Arthur’s lead. He wasn’t so proud that he couldn’t let someone else take the reins. Who knew, maybe Arthur was right and Valiant was a murderer. He had a duty to his people to check it out, at least, didn’t he? So, fine. But if he was wrong. If Valiant had done nothing wrong…

“Okay. Okay. But if you’re mistaken? If we do this and Valiant is innocent of any crime? Then you obey me without complaint. You never again question my authority. And you never threaten me again. With anything. Do you hear me?” 

He watched as Arthur swallowed thickly, eyes filled with meaning as he nodded his head quickly, a clear agreement. But it wasn’t enough. 

“No. No, no, no. I want to hear you say it. Swear to me, Arthur. Swear it.”

Blue eyes drowning him, Merlin could only stare as Arthur nodded again, a small smile on his lips. 

“I swear to you, Merlin Emrys, that if I am mistaken about Sorcerer Valiant, if he has done no crime and is innocent of my charges, then I will never doubt you again. I will be the perfect servant, dutiful and complacent towards my master. My prince. This, I swear, on my father’s grave.”

Oh. Ohhhh. Goddess save him. Please. 

He almost regretted it. The promise. He didn’t want this man to be compliant. That would ruin everything. He just…

Wanted him. 

For some reason.

But he couldn’t take it back now. So, he just set his jaw and nodded. Shook his head and let out one last mirthless laugh as he finally peeled himself away, over to his breakfast, now cold and dull. 

“And what about if I’m right,” he heard Arthur call after him, his back stiffening. “What if Valiant is cheating. Is killing others using a forbidden blade. What then?”

What then?

Well. 

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Holy. 

Fucking. 

Shit. 

Arthur paced the small room, eyes wide and panicked, trying to calm his racing heart. 

Well. That wasn’t what he had expected to happen this morning. He had expected to serve Merlin in stony silence, to let his anger and hatred radiate out of him, hoping that it would burn the prince but knowing the other was far too arrogant to even care. 

He hadn’t expected Merlin to sound so damned concerned. Definitely not for him. 

But he had. For some unknown reason, he had. It had been less than two weeks, and yet he watched in awe as he held the prince in the palm of his hands, malleable like putty. All it took was a few soft words, a few heated looks. And he was bending to his will. 

God. It was heady. 

But it was also terrifying. 

He’d never had such power over another. He’d never been able to move someone so much with words alone. Oh, yes. He was good with words. He could move men into action, inspire them with only a handful of words. But this was different. It felt… different. 

It felt wrong. 

Contrary to popular belief, Arthur was not an idiot. He knew what the looks Merlin gave him meant. He knew what the prince meant when he stared at his lips. Stared at his eyes. So many others had given him similar looks, typically young maidens, but sometimes young men, too.

He wasn’t a fool. 

But he also wasn’t… well. _That_. Don’t get him wrong, he had nothing against it, or the people who were like that! His best friend was inclined towards men as well as women, in fact. But… but men loved women, and women loved men. It was how the world was. It was natural. This… other thing? It wasn’t. Couldn’t be. If his father was alive…

So, he shoved the feelings away. Pushed them into a box. Once this was over, he’d never manipulate the prince this way again. It wasn’t fair. It was cruel and unjust. He only did it now so they could defeat Valiant and prove he was cheating, so he couldn’t kill anyone else (especially not the prince…).

And so, what, if his heart beat fast when the prince looked at him?

So, what, if he unwillingly thought of the man, when alone in bed, nothing but his hand and the silence?

So what? So what? 

It meant nothing. 

Because Arthur loved women. He loved their soft curves and their beautiful hair and their sweet scent. Arthur loved Gwen, with all his heart, so much he felt like he would burst. 

He didn’t love men. 

He didn’t love _Merlin_.

He didn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to those of you who were wanting Merlin and Arthur to hate each other forever. It just didn't work out that way, aha. ^-^


	4. Growing Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Internalized homophobia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!! So, I almost forgot about this, since I was doing something called GISH yesterday and was very busy, aha. Anyway! My next chapter. I think I might start posting these more than once a week, as this is going to take ages if I post once a week. So maybe Wednesday and Sunday? What do y'all think? 
> 
> Also, this chapter is bit overwrought and, since it's so long, I didn't have the ability to go over it and get rid of redundant parts. Feel free to let me know if you notice any and I'll look over it and might fix it later! 
> 
> Enjoy!

The plan was simple. Merlin would fight at the tourney today. He would battle the other sorcerers (and win, obviously, Arthur did not doubt that) and then he would allow the enemy sorcerer to head back to his room to settle down. Then, when the sorcerer was relaxed enough, Merlin would knock on the door and invite the sorcerer on a walk to congratulate him on his success (assuming Valiant managed to win his tourneys. Which, knowing their luck, he would.) 

While the prince distracted the sorcerer, Arthur would sneak into the room and find the stiletto blade. There was the idea that the sorcerer wore it around with him, but it would be risky on his part. If he were suspected of carrying a blade, he’d get in a ton of trouble. The blade may be small, but who knew, someone might spot it. At the very least, Arthur was hoping he’d find some evidence of a blade. Some bottles of blade polish. A sharpener. _Something_.

It was a long shot. He knew it. But it was all he had. He knew the sorcerer would use the blade again. Why bring it if he only intended on using it once?

The only problem was that he was a charming man. Arthur saw it in how he held himself, how he spoke softly to the king. Arthur himself had used such tactics at times, to get his way. But it couldn’t stop him. He knew that the sorcerer had murdered Sorcerer Birkitt in cold blood, and that he’d kill again. And he didn’t want the prince to be his next target. He couldn’t allow it. He may not… well, feel _that_ for the prince. But he didn’t hate him. Not… not fully. Not when he’d looked at him with such concern in his shining blue eyes, seeming to actually _care_ about him. At the very least, the boy didn’t deserve to die. That much he was sure of. 

So, he’d go forth with the plan and find _proof_. And then the king would have to listen. Right? It didn’t matter how well-spoken the sorcerer was. Not even sorcerers were above the law. Not this law. King Balinor saw to that. 

It made his stomach twist, the thought of sending someone to their death because they were proficient with a blade. It… well. He hated it. But it was necessary. And Valiant had brought it on himself. He was the one who had cheated. So there. 

Conscious clear(er), Arthur allowed himself to relax and actually enjoy the tourney, the sorcerers firing their magic at one another with a kind of grace. And if he cheered extra loud when Merlin was fighting? Well, no one needed to know. Outside of Gaius, that is, who had given him soft, knowing grins when he saw it. It made his cheeks heat, but he didn’t care. Merlin was actually good at magic, okay?! It’s not his fault it was actually kind of beautiful...

Finally, after an afternoon of excitement, the tourney had ended for the day. And Arthur was right. Merlin had made it to the final battle. And so, unfortunately, had Valiant. 

Meeting his prince as the results had been called, he watched as Merlin’s face grew closed off, eyes hard as he stared blankly ahead. Arthur wondered if he was afraid. Arthur wouldn’t blame him if he were. 

But they’d find the proof they needed. Merlin wouldn’t have to worry about Valiant laying a single hand on him. Arthur would see to that. 

The minutes between the end of the second day of the tourney and the start of their plan dragged into eternity as the pair silently sat together, Merlin supposedly doing paperwork, Arthur supposedly polishing his boots. He was sure neither was actually doing as they were supposed to. He knew he for sure wasn’t. He was just kind of blankly staring at the brown leather, mind a thousand miles away. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity passed, the clock chimed three. That meant it was time. Three was far enough away from the end of the tourney, but not too close to dinner, that they figured Valiant would still be in his rooms. Taking a deep breath, Arthur stood, sharing a grim look with Merlin. 

“You ready,” he whispered, helping the prince into his soft silk jacket. The prince let out a soft laugh, barely more than a puff of air against his face. 

“As I’ll ever be. You?”

Arthur conjured his cockiest grin and gave the prince a wink. He ignored the way his heart began to race when he saw Merlin’s face turn bright red, the prince’s eyes darting away before he could betray himself. But he already had, Arthur thought solemnly. He already had. 

The two began their trek to the sorcerer’s room, heart pounding with each step they took. Well, he assumed Merlin’s heart was pounding. His certainly was. But he wasn’t a coward. He’d faced worse odds and won. He’d like to see Valiant’s worst. 

As they neared the part of the castle the visiting sorcerers resided, Merlin began to slow down, until the two had stopped in the middle of an empty hallway. Arthur was about to ask what was wrong, when he felt hands tug him off to the side, into a dark alcove. His heart, already pounding, kicked into overdrive, so fast he was sure he was about to die. But he didn’t show his fear, his eyes hardening as he looked at Merlin, betrayal forming in his heart. 

Before he could yell at the prince, he heard him hush him, giving him a hard look. Arthur, still angry (and afraid, though he’d deny that), just bared his teeth and waited for Merlin’s explanation. It didn’t take long. 

“Hold on, you clotpole. I just… look. You’re going into a sorcerer’s room. You don’t have magic. Doing such a thing is… it’s suicide. So, I wanted to give you something. For luck.”

The words were soft, Merlin’s eyes wide and beguiling in the half-darkness that they found themselves in. Arthur felt his heart stop at the words, eyes widening. Oh. Oh no. He hadn’t… well, he was flattered, but he wasn’t… he meant…

Before he could sputter out his refusal for the... ‘something,’ Merlin had shoved something into his hands, a meaningful look in his eyes. It took a second for his brain to catch up with his eyes, but when they did, he let out a large sigh of relief. Oh. He had meant… but of course! What else could Merlin have meant? 

That still didn’t explain what the object in his hand was, though. With a frown, he held it up to his eyes, straining in the dark to see the object. It looked like…

“A necklace?! You bought me a bloody necklace?!”

Well. Now he was insulted. He wasn’t a freaking girl! Not like _Mer_ lin was. His tirade was interrupted with Merlin’s snort of laughter, the sound still so beautiful, even when it was at his expense. 

“Oh! Your face! Priceless. Oh man, I wish I could keep a painting of that face you had made. Ha!”

Well. That was just rude. He was about to shove the necklace back with a snarl when he felt Merlin’s soft hands (a prince’s hands, his brain supplied, never worked a day in his life) grasped his, closing them around the necklace. 

“As funny as your reaction was, relax. It’s not a necklace. Well, it is. But it’s not just a necklace. It’s a protection charm. It will keep you safe against any low-level charms or curses that you may encounter. It was really tricky for me to enchant, so keep that safe, okay? I put it on a necklace to keep it safe, so you wouldn’t lose it. Even after today, if we survive, I’d like you to keep it. It… it might help.”

Huh. Merlin sounded almost… bashful. Stomach churning, Arthur looked at the… ‘protection charm’ (necklace. He’d given him a bloody necklace, he mentally grumbled) closer. It was a circle, he noticed. Silver, maybe steel. About an inch or two in diameter, completely smooth on the back. And on the front, in the center, displayed prominently was a little- 

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, a tiny grin on his face as he recognized the design that was on the mid-sized charm. The prince’s head shot up, eyes wide at the exclamation.

“What?!”

Arthur just laughed, his second since arriving in Camelot. He didn’t know why he laughed, but it just… was funny. For some reason. 

“No, you clod. It’s a bloody merlin! Like, the bird. Oh God, this is too girly. You just gave me a necklace with your symbol on it. Eugh.” 

Despite his protests, he was… strangely touched. He refused to ever say that, though, and instead settled on smirking meanly as the prince spluttered, face bright red, clear even in the dark. Ha. Hilarious. 

“Wha- I mean, no! N-nuh uh! How, I mean how could you… it’s a bird! How on earth do you know what a merlin looks like?!” The prince exclaimed, before lowering his voice as they heard footsteps pass. Probably wasn’t a good idea to be caught in a secret alcove, exchanging friendship necklaces…

Once the footsteps passed by, Arthur shook his head with a soft chuckle, a smile still on his lips. 

“Because I’m a hunter, you pillock. Well, sometimes. When the farming is done, and I can get out with the boys. We would see merlins all the time. They taste good, too,” Arthur added, just to see the anger rise in his Merlin’s eyes. Wait. He meant… not _his_ Merlin like he belonged to him, just… oh, whatever. He’d never actually eaten a merlin, if he were being honest, hadn’t even killed one, but he had seen them around, his mother pointing them out to him as they wandered the forest together. The birds were so bloody fast he bet he’d never be able to shoot and kill one, let alone eat it. But he’d never do that. His mother had always loved merlins. They were her favorite bird, she said, a soft smile on her face. He wondered, idly, as the prince scowled at him, what his mother would think of this Merlin. If she’d like him, too. 

“You are a total arse, you know that?” Merlin hissed, though there was a small smile playing on his lips, like he found some part of this whole thing funny. Arthur ignored the pang in his heart (he was getting good at ignoring things, he found), and slipped the necklace on with a roll of his eyes. Next to the ring he wore. His father’s ring.

As soon as it touched his chest, a strange warmth invaded his body, making him gasp at the sensation. He saw Merlin jolt, eyes wide as he reached out to grab at Arthur. 

“Arthur? You alright?” Merlin hissed, worry clear in his tone. Arthur didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling. 

It was like… like stepping into a warm bath after being outside on a blustery day. Like eating warm food after months of eating only stale bread. Like coming home after decades away. It was like…

Like everything he’d ever wanted, but never knew he did. 

God, it was heady. 

After a moment, the feeling settled somewhat, but he couldn’t get rid of the lingering warmth that filled him as he wore it. He didn’t think that Merlin would have a problem getting him to keep wearing this necklace, he thought in a daze. He never wanted to take it off. 

“Arthur...?” Merlin questioned softly, bringing Arthur back to reality, his eyes landing on the prince before him. The prince who looked so concerned, like he was afraid the necklace had hurt him. Arthur couldn’t help the lazy grin that found his lips, eyes crinkling at the heady feeling of Merlin’s magic surrounding him. 

“Yeah. I’m, uh. Good. Just. Felt strange, is all.” 

Merlin let out a soft breath at that, smiling in reply. 

“Oh, good. I was worried it had hurt you. N-not that I thought it would! It’s just, uh. Sometimes magic has strange reactions to people. I wasn’t sure if mine hurt you or something. I sometimes have trouble controlling it, I guess. I’m glad you’re alright, though. You dollophead.” 

Strange reactions, huh? He wondered if the warmth was typical of the spell Merlin had used, or if it was purely Merlin that he was feeling. Part of him wanted to ask. The majority was afraid to. Afraid he already knew the answer. So, he just nodded, and looked out at the once again empty hallway. 

“Yeah. Anyway, let’s get going. No use dilly dallying, eh Merlin?” Arthur grinned, before heading out into the hallway. He no longer felt at all nervous. He had Merlin’s magic to protect him, after all. He had nothing to worry about. 

He heard the prince grumble after him, including a snide comment about how he should be calling him _Prince_ Merlin, but Arthur just ignored him. He knew Merlin didn’t actually care. Not anymore. 

In no time at all, the pair reached the hallway that Valiant’s room was located at. With a significant look at the prince, Arthur quickly hid in another dark alcove, not wanting the visiting sorcerer to see him. It was better if he didn’t suspect anything. 

He watched with wary eyes as Merlin knocked loudly on the door, his back tall and straight, looking every inch the prince that he was. It almost took his breath away, seeing his, well… _friend_ , he supposed, look so regal. He pulled himself back together as he saw the door open, Valiant’s face showing through the doorway. Arthur spared a second to worry about Merlin’s acting skills, hoping he’d be able to successfully fool the other sorcerer into thinking that he was being truthful. He honestly had no idea how good an actor Merlin was. He was such an open book that Arthur started to feel anxiety fill him again, despite the warmth his charm made him feel. 

Luckily, his fear was miscounted, as Valiant ate up Merlin’s attention like the attention whore he was. And Merlin really was quite good… though he looked less admiring and more, well. Besotted. But perhaps it would still work? 

He ignored the pang of what he refused to admit was jealousy that hit him. He had nothing to be jealous of. _Nothing_. 

A few minutes passed before Merlin laid his hand casually against Valiant’s arm, Arthur’s blood boiling at the sight. He was too far away to fully hear what was being said, but he could hear the way Merlin laughed, that smile that was supposed to be reserved for him bright on his face (he didn’t even bother chastising himself for the thought. It wouldn’t help). He hated it. He hated that he hated it. He hated himself. Fuck. 

Another minute passed before Valiant began to nod, ducking inside his room to grab something. Merlin called after him, making the visiting sorcerer chuckle, popping out a second later with a jacket in his hand. The sorcerer wasn’t wearing his ceremonial robes, was just wearing some simple shirt and trouser combo, with a silver doublet over it, so he hoped that the stiletto wasn’t hiding on his body at the moment. After the pair had walked off down the hallway, Valiant’s arm hooked around Merlin’s shoulder lightly, Arthur waited a few minutes before exiting his hiding place. He ignored the way his blood had boiled at the sight of Valiant’s arm around _his_ Merlin. Wait. He meant... Fuck. 

Shaking his head to rid it of the worthless thoughts, he hesitatingly entered the room, using the magical key Merlin had given him earlier that day. It apparently could break any magical warding spell. Or so Merlin claimed, which is why he had given Arthur a hard look when he made him promise to not lose it. Arthur had just rolled his eyes and smirked insolently at the prince.

Now that he was inside the room, he had no idea where to look. He could feel his new charm glowing hot on his chest, but he ignored it as he carefully wandered around. If he were an evil, cheating sorcerer, where would he hide his illegal weapon? 

Well. That was simple for him. Under the floorboard, beneath a loose wooden plank. But he didn’t think this room had such a hiding place. The floors were solid stone, and the area was far too large for him to look under every stone. So, he turned around and began his careful search. Hopefully, if he were careful enough, Valiant would never know he was there. 

He searched for half an hour before he began to wonder if he’d actually find anything. Frustrated, he ran a careless hand through his hair, musing it badly. 

Where could it be? Was Valiant wearing it? He knew he had seen the blade. He knew it. Just… he had to think. Think, think, think. Where would an evil sorcerer hide a stiletto blade? 

He only had a half hour more. He knew that. Merlin had promised him an hour, but couldn’t guarantee anymore, since Valiant would likely want to go freshen up in his room before dinner that night. So, he had to hurry. 

He searched in vain for another ten minutes, nearly ready to tear his hair out in frustration. Where...?

It was just as he was about to give up hope that he saw the piece of wall that looked… odd. Heart pounding fast, he rushed to the area, eyes seeing the seam in the wall and the place that looked off. Like there was an illusion there. 

Quickly, hoping that Merlin’s charm would protect him from any possible curse, he plunged his hand into the illusion. 

Instantly he gasped, eyes widening as he felt the ice chill overtake his body. He was about to fall to the ground, body freezing from the inside out, when a bead of warmth made its way through his body, starting at his heart and radiating outward. For a single second he was confused, until he looked down and saw Merlin’s charm shining brightly over his heart. Unbidden, a smile made its way onto his lips. So, it did work, then. He’d have to properly thank Merlin later. 

Hand still in the false wall, he rooted around, hand searching for the blade he was looking for, when a puff of smoke in the shape of a bird flew at him, startling him badly. For a second, he thought it was another of Valiant’s curses, before remembering the plan he had created with Merlin earlier. He promised an hour, but if for whatever reason Valiant didn’t stay the whole time, Merlin would send a warning. 

A bird made of smoke. 

Shit. 

He couldn’t leave right now. Quickly grasping around, Arthur had his whole arm in the illusion wall, heart pounding as he tried to find it. He had to do it now. He’d never have another chance. 

Just as he knew he had to leave with or without his prize, his hand brushed something cold and metal. Letting out an involuntary whoop, he grasped the thing and pulled it out, triumphant. 

However, when he saw what was in his hand, he couldn’t help but wilt in disappointment. Instead of the stiletto, he saw a little sharpening tool, a metal whet stone designed to sharpen a smaller blade. While it wasn’t what he was looking for, it had to be good enough. With a careful glance around, Arthur rushed to the door, carefully exiting as quick as he could. He saw no one in the hallway, so he ran back to the dark alcove he had hid in earlier and dove in. 

Not a second too soon, for as soon as he was hidden safely in the shadow, he saw a thunderous Valiant storm passed his hiding spot, scowl firm upon his features. Arthur held his breath in anticipation as he watched the sorcerer hastily yank open his door and rush inside, door slamming shut behind him. 

Wow. Whatever he and Merlin had been up to must have ended poorly… not dwelling on such thoughts, Arthur hid the whet stone in his inner jacket pocket and carefully rushed back to his prince’s bedroom, eager to show the man what he had found. It wasn’t what they had wanted. But it would have to be enough. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Oh, this had been a bad idea. A very, very, no good, really bad, truly _terrible_ idea! Why had he let Arthur talk him into this?

He felt almost hysterical as Valiant’s arm wrapped further around his shoulder, steering him out into the gardens that he had spent years of his youth playing in. The older sorcerer was whispering little facts to him, a sly smile on his face, like he was so clever. He wasn’t. Almost everything he said Merlin had already known, like that this flower had certain magical powers, or that type of soil would best grow this magical plant... goddess but this man was dull. 

He hadn’t meant to insinuate that he was… well, _interested_ in the older sorcerer. He had just tried to have wide eyed and innocent look, an admiring smile on his lips as he asked the sorcerer to please grace him with his presence during a walk through the gardens. However, it seemed that Valiant had taken that suggestively, a flirty smile on his lips as he guided the prince around by his shoulders, like he was the host showing his guest around, not the other way around. 

Well, it wasn’t all bad. Valiant certainly wasn’t bad on the eyes, his features rugged and handsome enough. For a man. Which Merlin wasn’t attracted to. No. Definitely not.

As they entered a more secluded part of the garden, he felt Valiant steer him down a side path, which Merlin knew led to a beautiful archway, which one could climb up and see the whole of the garden. It was also nice and secluded, he knew, having brought Freya here when they were younger, his lips carefully finding hers, before she tearfully told him that she thought of him merely as a brother, nothing else. Which was fine. It had only hurt him a little, though his thirteen-year-old heart had thought it was breaking at the time. He was glad they could remain friends, though he was sure part of him would always love her, in some regard at least. 

Now, though… now he felt his heart pounding as the older sorcerer guided him towards the secluded archway, leading them down instead of up. 

Part of him was afraid. What if he was reading this wrong and Valiant didn’t want a rendezvous, he instead wanted to kill him with his stiletto blade? Cold fear entered his veins. At either thought, honestly. After all. He wasn’t interested in men ( _liar_ , his mind hissed, bitterly remembering the way his blood sang when Arthur was near, not to mention those old serving boys… Or Wi-) 

He was jolted out of his thoughts, quite literally, when he felt his back pressed against unyielding stone. He let out a shaky breath, fear creeping up his spine as Valiant smirked down at him, clearly enjoying himself. Oh, God. He had read this wrong, hadn’t he? Oh. He was about to die. Oh god. Oh no. He hoped his father would forgive him. He wondered if he’d finally meet his mother. He wondered-

His frantic thoughts were rudely pushed away the second warm lips met his, the bitter taste of _something_ mixing with a sweeter taste of what he thought was candy. All thoughts left his mind as those lips pressed softly against his, and then rougher, hands pressing him roughly into the stone behind him. He barely had the frame of mind to kiss back, his lips sloppy and clumsy compared to his partner’s experienced lips. 

This went on for several minutes, or maybe hours, Merlin thought, eyes still wide as he stared at Valiant’s closed eyes, an almost peaceful expression on the other man’s face. Merlin would never have thought this man was responsible for the death of another sorcerer, huh? 

It was then that he was jolted back into reality, abruptly aware of the hands wandering underneath his shirt, playing with the slight smattering of chest hair he had managed to grow, finger circling his left nipple. Oh, God. What was he doing?! He was the prince! This man, supposedly, had murdered another sorcerer! This man…

This man was now gently nipping kisses down his neck, untying the neckerchief, and tossing it carelessly aside. Merlin almost lost himself to sensation again, never having experienced anything so amazing feeling. It was like his entire being had exploded into fireworks. Like he was about to go over a large waterfall in nothing but a barrel. Like…

_I wonder what this would feel like if Arthur was the one doing it?_ A sly voice whispered in his head, causing him to violently jerk away from the man before him, hastily pushing him away. He saw annoyance flash into the older sorcerer’s eyes, before a mask of indifference covered them. Merlin almost felt sorry but knew this had to stop. He, he wasn’t… he didn’t like…

Oh. 

Fuck it. 

He did. 

He did like. 

Damn it. 

He just stared at Valiant as the revelation hit him over the head. He had always suspected there was something wrong with him. But now? Now he knew for sure. Those brief kisses were nothing like the sweet kiss he had shared with Freya, or that visiting Druid girl that had taking a shine to him when he had been sixteen. Those kisses had been nice, pleasant. But they hadn’t made him as horny as he currently felt. 

And God was he horny. Fucking hell. 

But it was wrong. He… he was a man. Valiant was a man. It was... it was wrong. And besides! Valiant was likely a murderer! Was likely planning on murdering him come morning! Unless…

Unless, maybe Arthur was wrong? Unless… maybe...

Maybe Arthur was lying?

But no. Arthur wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Right? 

As his thoughts raced around his head, he heard his companion sigh softly, before gentle fingers caressed his face. He tried not to jump out of his skin as he stared, eyes so wide they began to water, at the sorcerer before him. 

“Let me guess. That was your first time kissing a man?” Valiant hummed, eyes lidded and heady. Merlin’s mouth went dry and he licked his lips thoughtlessly. He regretted it when he saw the older sorcerer track the movement, hunger in his eyes. That look… as much as it scared him, it made his blood sing. Ohhhh, this was bad. Bad, bad, BAD. 

After a moment passed and he could force no words out, he felt more than heard Valiant chuckle, since the sorcerer’s chest was still pressed against his own, the sorcerer’s left hand still holding his hip tight. He hated it as much as he loved it. (Maybe he’d like it more if it were someone else…)

Almost like he had read his mind, Valiant pulled away, eyes looking at him with a strange emotion in them. Like he was evaluating him. Merlin wanted to lick his lips once more, dry as they were, but he didn’t want to see that hunger in Valiant ever again. It scared him. Scared him more for what it made him want to do…

“Oh, yes. I recognize that look. Let me guess, little bird, that servant of yours? The one with golden hair, and brilliant blue eyes? Yes,” Valiant mused, eyes dark with unknown emotion as he took in Merlin’s panicked look, “I noticed you looking at him. He is quite the looker. But be warned, little bird. He’s not like us. He doesn’t... well. He doesn’t swim on the same side of the stream if you catch my meaning.” 

Oh. Merlin did, he thought, heart sinking as he watched Valiant with his impossibly wide eyes. He understood perfectly well. After all. He’d noticed it too. However…

“I-I think you’re mistaken, Sorcerer Valiant. I, I’m not. I don’t, I mean to say, I’m not. Not like… not like you. N-not that there’s anything w-wrong with! With swimming. I. Just...” 

Oh, he was such a liar. But he couldn’t let his father hear about this. Couldn’t let his father think that he… that he could possibly… 

Valiant just laughed, looking disproportionately amused. Merlin thought he could hate this man in this moment. It was then that he remembered why he was out here in the first place. Why he was trying to keep Valiant busy. 

Suddenly, an icy cold grasped his heart then, his magic going crazy as the warm summer air froze bitterly, Valiant’s face freezing as he looked up, like something had happened that he hadn’t expected. Then, suddenly, the eyes fell back to him, a snarl marring what had once been an almost teasing smile. 

“Oh, you aren’t, are you?” Valiant hissed, eyes slits as he pressed Merlin further into the archway, making Merlin feel a shot of such intense fear. Oh, God. Maybe he had been right about both of his earlier assessments. Shit. 

“You can’t fool me, prince. You might have had your ulterior motives for asking me out here, but I know interest when I see it. When I feel it. And you, little bird?” Valiant breathed, hand creeping down and tightly grasping his length through his trousers, making Merlin’s eyes widen impossibly further. He had to suppress the moan that wanted to escape, despite how inappropriate it was to feel any pleasure at this terrifying moment. But it seemed that Valiant had gotten what he had wanted, the sorcerer laughing cruelly as he stepped back, more chill finding him as the warm body pulled away. 

“Oh, you definitely are interested. Especially in that serving boy of yours. I wonder, what would your father think, if he knew? If he suspected? Well. Perhaps, if you don’t want to find out, I’d keep quiet about… certain things. After all. I’d hate to see that boy get hurt.”

With that, Valiant stormed away, pace fast as he headed back to the castle. Merlin could only stare after him for a couple long moments, until he shook himself out of it, heart stopping when he remembered the plan. Somehow, Valiant knew. And he was likely headed straight back for his rooms. 

Arthur. 

Shit. 

Quick as he could, Merlin said the spell for the smoke bird, voice shaking but working well enough, glad he had thought of this safeguard. He had no idea how much time had passed, his whole head a jumble, but he hoped it was enough. As he watched the bird fly away, he wondered what he had gotten himself into. What he had just had, unwillingly, uncovered in him. 

More than anything, he prayed that Arthur got out quickly enough. 

After all, Valiant was right. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of Arthur getting hurt. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Okay. Alright. Okay. They could work with this. They could. They had to. 

Merlin was currently pacing as Arthur sat on the ground by the fire, polishing the same boot he’d been polishing earlier. 

It was something. It was enough to prove that Valiant was up to something, at least. Why have a whet stone if you didn’t have a blade to sharpen? Sure, it didn’t mean he had used said blade to murder the other sorcerer, but it was still condemning enough to at least make the king suspicious. Right? He asked as much to Merlin. 

“I don’t know, alright?! Father… the king has always been strange with what he does and does not approve of. Sometimes he is biting mad at any hint of non-magic fighting. Other times he doesn’t seem to care at all. I have no idea what he’ll think. But honestly, Arthur, what is the point of all this? Valiant wouldn’t dare kill me, not in front of the entire kingdom. Not when he must know we suspect him. He’s not an idiot. What he did to Sorcerer Birkitt was wrong, and cruel, a-and it shouldn’t have happened. But… but maybe we should just let it go. Just… forget about it. Please, Arthur? Just let it go.” 

Arthur almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They were close! They were so close to proving Valiant a murderer, and Merlin wanted to, what. Give up? Give him a break. 

“Uh, Merlin, I don’t know if you noticed, but we are so close. I can practically taste it. Then that bastard Valiant can get what he deserves. He’s a murderer. He lacks honor. He deserves to be sentenced for his crime. Besides, who’s to say that he won’t just kill again after he leaves here? Can you have that blood on your conscious?” 

Arthur honestly didn’t know why it mattered so much to him. He’d never cared for sorcerers. And surely Merlin had some grain of truth in his words. Valiant wasn’t a fool. No money was worth the wrath of the king when he learned he had killed his only son. 

And yet…

And yet, he couldn’t get the image of Valiant, arm outstretched over Merlin’s thin shoulders out of his mind. Couldn’t forget the pale, dazed look Merlin had on his face for half an hour after he had arrived back at his rooms, barely listening to Arthur’s brilliant plan of catching the bastard. He knew Valiant had done something to hurt his (no, not his, _the_ ) prince, he knew it. Especially when he noticed that the boy’s usually pale, chapped lips were now bright red and bruised and angry looking. Valiant had hurt Merlin. So, he would pay. 

“Look. Merlin. The plan is simple. Just head down to dinner and show them all the whet stone I found. Tell them about the stab wound and that you suspect foul play. Your father will listen to you. He’s your father! He has to listen to you. So just... Trust me, alright?”

Arthur could see Merlin wavering, white teeth biting the sore looking lips. (Arthur wondered blithely what those lips would feel like-)

“I don’t know, Arthur. Maybe we should just move on. It was nice, playing detective with you. But I think we need to give up. Just… please.”

Merlin sounded so soft. So beseeching. His eyes, wide and guileless, almost made Arthur give in. But…

But now, he couldn’t get the image of this boy, dead, out of his head. He knew, _knew_ , that, while it would be very foolish, Valiant wouldn’t stop at anything to win this tourney. He couldn’t explain why. And so, Arthur did what he had sworn never to do again. He manipulated Merlin. 

Slowly, carefully, Arthur stalked up to Merlin, eyes intense, mouth partially open. He hated himself, especially when he saw Merlin’s eyes widen, darting back and forth to find something. An exit, most like. But Arthur didn’t stop. Not until he was a hair’s breadth away from the boy, until he could feel the warm, shuddery breath on his lips. Until he could smell the fresh scent of Merlin, like flowers and fresh grass and mountain dew. Like something precious and natural and oh so amazing. But Arthur couldn’t focus on that. Couldn’t lose himself while trying to make Merlin lose control. So, he pushed the feeling back and looked at Merlin with wide eyes, callused hand absently reaching out to grab Merlin’s impossibly soft one. He knew when he had won when Merlin’s eyes clouded over, glassy, and unseeing. Christ. He was a monster. 

“Please, Merlin. For me.”

That hadn’t been what he had meant to say. He had meant to go on about honor. About dignity. About doing what was right, no matter the cost. But his throat closed up before he could get anything else out. Nothing but the whispered words, said with what felt like desperation. God, he hated himself. 

It seemed it didn’t matter. Merlin shuddered impossibly, eyes half lidded, bruised mouth open and panting, and just nodded. 

“Y-yeah. Okay, Arthur. Okay.”

And like that, the spell broke. Feeling disgusting and dirty, Arthur jolted away, shame filling him. What was he doing? How could he think of honor and dignity when he was using the other man this way? He knew what the boy felt. How could he do this to him? 

But it didn’t matter. If it saved the boy’s life? It didn’t matter. And Arthur knew that Valiant was a monster himself. Maybe like knew like. As long as Merlin was alive, it would be worth it. He hoped. 

He didn’t even know why he wanted Merlin alive so bad. Not so long ago he had hated every part of the man. And yet… and yet, Arthur had seen the kindness that Gaius spoke about, though he tried so hard to deny it. He saw the gentle boy who smiled so sweetly when they walked the gardens, who pointed out what flower meant what, not even for him but just for the world to know. He saw the prince who would hand out sweets to the younger serving staff, with a wink and a whispered promise to never tell anyone. He would try and hide it behind sneers and arrogance. But Arthur was sure that wasn’t all the boy was. At least, he hoped so. He believed so. 

The hour that passed between their conversation and the start of dinner felt like an eternity had passed. Both boys could barely focus, Merlin staring blankly at the same page of paperwork for ten minutes while Arthur absently polished the same spot over and over again. At least that one spot would shine so beautifully, he pondered, heart feeling like it would churn right out of his chest. 

When the bell finally tolled, signifying the turn of the hour and the start of dinner, both boys stood abruptly. Sharing a desperate, wide eyed look, both boys nodded tensely, solemnly. It was time. 

It was like time had stretched into eternity as the pair walked down to the dining hall, Merlin’s hands clutched around the whet stone. He looked so nervous that Arthur felt bad for enforcing this. It had to happen. But… well.

As the pair finally made it to the dining hall, he saw Merlin pause, shuddering intensely. Arthur absently raised his hand and pressed it firmly to the prince’s back before he could talk himself out of it. No words were exchanged, his throat too dry for that, but he saw Merlin smile at him wobbly before he nodded his head once. Then, the doors were opened, and they entered the lion’s den. 

Most of the other sorcerers were already seated around, chatting lightly with one another. _All but Sorcerer Birkitt_ , his mind supplied darkly. And Valiant was…

Ah. There he was. Staring right at him. Glaring, if he was being truthful. But there was a hint of a smile on his face. Like he knew what they were planning. Like...

But no. They had to keep going. Had to make the king see reason. Surely, he’d care about treachery in his own home, right? He’d listen to his son, surely. Fathers love their sons. They listened to them. The king would listen. He had to believe that.

He watched, almost in a trance, as Merlin took his seat. The prince was fiddling with his hands, the whet stone hidden beneath them. Right before the king stood up to begin their meal, Merlin stood abruptly, looking both terrified and defiant. 

“Father, if I may. I have something to say,” Merlin stated, voice somehow not wavering, though Arthur could see the panic in his eyes, could almost see the pulse pounding in his neck. When he had come to know the prince so well, he had no idea. 

The king raised an eyebrow at the words, sitting back in his chair. Arthur could see the way his eyes lingered on Merlin’s bruised lips, a sneer rising on the royal face. But Balinor just waved a careless hand, nodding his consent to the intrusion. Merlin bowed his head and stared resolutely out at the table. A moment passed, in which Arthur began to fear Merlin had lost his nerve, when the prince visibly steeled himself and held out his hand. He opened it, and the whet stone was revealed. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Most of the sorcerers just looked puzzled, like they had never seen such a thing before. But the king knew. And he stood, slowly but with fire in his eyes, sneer bright as he stared at the offending object. 

“Where did you get that, Merlin? Tell me!” The king demanded, eyes hard on his son. Arthur felt bad for the prince, as he saw him swallow thickly, hand wavering just slightly before he controlled himself. Arthur was impressed despite himself. Merlin was clearly terrified, yet he controlled himself well. 

“I-I found it, your majesty, in Sorcerer Valiant’s chambers when I visited him earlier. I suspect he’s been using a blade in the battle. Sorcerer Birkitt-“

Before Merlin could continue with his practiced speech, the king cut him off with a wave of his hand. 

“Nonsense. Sorcerer Valiant wouldn’t dare bring such a thing to Camelot. Would you, Sorcerer Valiant?” The king questioned, eyes turned to the man in question. Arthur finally turned his gaze back to the sorcerer, heart stopping when he noticed the eyes were settled right on him. For one moment all Valiant did was stare at him, eyes dark, promising retribution. But then the man smiled, turning the gaze to the king. 

“My king. I would never betray you in such a way. I am a man of honor. I wouldn’t dream of such treachery. Perhaps the boy is mistaken? After all, I don’t recall inviting him into my rooms. We walked earlier this afternoon, yes, but he never entered my rooms themselves. How could he even have found such an object?”

Ah. Well. Arthur was hoping he wouldn’t bring that up. Clearly Merlin had been too, as his hand clenched tightly around the whet stone, eyes wide with what Arthur could only call fear. In a moment of stupidity that both would later regret, Merlin‘s eyes darted over to Arthur, unwittingly condemning them both. 

Valiant saw. Of course, he saw, he’d been looking for it, the bastard. And he smiled so cruelly Arthur wondered how the king didn’t notice. 

“Oh,” Valiant practically purred, “I see. The manservant must have entered my rooms without my knowledge, planting the whet stone himself. Tell me, King Balinor, is such behavior allowed in your fine kingdom? If your son were afraid to face me, I would gladly accept his withdrawal from the battle. He needn’t have gone through such measures, I assure you.” 

Oh, they were fucked. Arthur noticed the moment that the king recognized the jab for what it was, eyes wide and face flushing. His eyes moved angrily to Arthur, sneer on his face. It looked so much like Merlin’s sneer, and yet so very different. Merlin could never hope to achieve such pure vitriol in a single look. He was too good for that. 

“Guards. Seize the serving boy.”

“No!” 

Arthur stared in shock as Merlin’s power crackled around them, eyes wide as he took in the frantic way Merlin looked at him, desperate, as guards grabbed his arms and held them tight. Oh. Oh. _Oh_.. 

He never should have manipulated the prince. He hadn’t realized just how far he had gone. Fuck. 

“Sit down, you foolish boy! You’ve made me look like a fool in front of the kingdom enough today. Is what Valiant said true? Do you dare falsely accuse him based on the word of a servant?”

Ah. Shit. They had lost. He could see it in how angry Balinor was, in how smug Valiant looked. In how desperate and afraid Merlin looked. Maybe, if the prince had been able to hide his emotions. Maybe if he was a better liar. But he wasn’t. His face was an open book. And his guilt was clear for all to see. He didn’t even have to say a word for the king to notice, a sigh so heavy on his lips. Like Merlin had disappointed him. Not for the first time. 

“Guards, take the servant away to the dungeon. Keep him there until I can decide what to do-”

“No! Don’t, don’t hurt him, it was my idea! I was the one who forced him to do it. Don’t hurt him!”

Oh Merlin. Poor, foolish, noble Merlin. Arthur tried to shake his head, eyes wide with meaning, but the prince wasn’t looking at him. He was looking, wide eyed and desperate, at the king. How anyone could mistake his feelings, Arthur didn’t know. They were plain on his face. And the king noticed. Oh, did he notice. 

Eyes enraged, the king glared at Arthur, like it was his fault the prince lo- cared for him. _Like hell_ , Arthur thought, a touch hysterical. He hadn’t wanted it. Hadn’t done anything to earn it. He’d just been insolent and rude. How could he have known the prince apparently liked such things? 

“Guards? Take him away.” 

“No!” 

The magic pulsed through the room as Merlin shouted, the air crackling, everything beginning to float as Merlin’s eyes flashed bright gold, hands clenched around the whet stone. The other sorcerers looked around at one another, uncertain what to do. Arthur was suddenly afraid of what Merlin would do, his power cloying in the air, when Valiant stepped forward. Ah, fuck. 

“Your majesty, may I speak?”

The king nodded curtly, eyes never leaving that of his only son’s, face like stone. 

“I don’t see why we should punish the serving boy. After all, he was only trying to help his master. It’s almost noble, in a way. I don’t see why he should face any punishment. Not on my behalf.”

Wait. What? 

Arthur’s eyes darted to Valiant, confusion bright in his eyes. Valiant was staring straight at him, satisfied smile on his lips. Hm. Well, that was concerning. 

But it worked. The king chanced a glance at Valiant, before nodding. The guards pulled away. As they did, all the tables and silverware landed back on the ground with a clunk. Arthur turned his gaze to Merlin, who had the decency to look ashamed. 

“You have shamed me, Merlin. Are you withdrawing from the tourney as well, then?”

“No! Never, your majesty.”

“Then good. Sit down and stop with this foolishness.”

After that, dinner proceeded like normal, though the silence was deafening. The other sorcerers just looked back and forth from king to prince, unsure of what to think. The king was stony in his anger, power crackling around him. The prince, on the other hand…

Arthur hated himself even more in that moment. After all, Merlin had tried to warn him. Tried to get him to give it up. But he hadn’t listened. And now? Now Merlin was facing the consequences for his actions. 

It hurt, he realized, heart fluttering, to see Merlin so dejected. So ashamed. And he was forced to sit through the rest of dinner, shame mounting. Arthur didn’t know how he did it. He certainly never could have. Arthur was far too proud to face such unjust accusation. But Merlin did. With his shoulders set, even as his eyes were dull, he sat for the entire meal, stony silence suffocating Arthur. 

Arthur tried to get Merlin’s attention as he poured him his wine, but the prince didn’t even chance a glance at him. Arthur ignored the pang the dismissal caused and just stood there, silent, for the remainder of the meal. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the king dismissed them all. Arthur briefly worried that he’d call Merlin to him, yell at him some more in private, but it seemed the king felt that his silent disappointment was enough. And it was, Arthur knew, when he saw Merlin’s face crumble before he could put his mask back up. His heart ached at the sight. 

The pair were silent once more as they marched solemnly to the prince’s room, Merlin’s eyes straight ahead, not looking anywhere else. Arthur wanted to break the silence but knew he had no right to. This was all his fault, after all. 

Finally, the two reached Merlin’s room. As soon as the door shut behind Arthur, Merlin let out the anger and rage and shame he had been concealing poorly, a scream of anger and frustration leaving his lips as a wave of magic coursed through the room. Nothing seemed to be harmed, but everything shook drastically. Arthur could only watch as Merlin stormed the room, magic thick around him. He couldn’t see the prince’s eyes, but he knew they’d be bright gold. 

“I told you,” Merlin rasped, voice shaky and thick with emotion. “I told you we should just let it go. But no. We had to go on. So that you could get your satisfaction. So that you could be _right_. I never… I never should have listened to you. Now my father thinks me a coward and that I’ve shamed him. That I’m _afraid_ to fight Valiant! I can’t... I can’t keep being a disappointment. I have to prove that I’m worth something. I can’t…” 

Arthur watched with horror as a sob released from Merlin’s throat, though the man kept his head bowed so that Arthur couldn’t see the tears he was sure would be there. But, when Merlin finally looked up, eyes filled with pain and anguish, no tears had been spilt. His eyes were glassy and full, but not a single tear had fallen. Arthur admired the prince for that. 

“It’s all your fault. If you had never come here, none of this would have happened. You… I can’t. So just go. Leave. I never want to see you again. You hear me? Go home.”

Wait. What?!

No… Arthur felt his heart lurch painfully as Merlin turned his back to him, hands clenched, the damned whet stone still within them. 

Arthur felt faint. He had just… he just wanted to help. To keep _Mer_ lin safe. To protect… 

“No,” Arthur said, voice shaking. But why was he denying it? Shouldn’t he be happy? This is what he wanted, yes? To annoy Merlin enough that he’d willingly sack him?

But this… this felt wrong. And Merlin was still in danger. He couldn’t leave now. Not when Merlin could die. Not when Merlin-

“No?! You don’t have a say, Arthur!”

-was so angry at him. It wasn’t right. He was just…

“I was just trying to help! To protect you!”

“Protect me?! You have no magic, Arthur! How on earth would a weak human like you protect a warlock like me?! You’re nothing! Just go! Go home, like I know you want to! To, to your mother, and your friends, and your hunting! I don’t need you! So just… go!”

Merlin emphasized his words with a burst of magic, pushing Arthur back a step. It hadn’t hurt him, but it was…

Wrong. Merlin’s magic was warm and good and bright. Like his medallion. This just felt like… like anger and pain. 

And it was all his fault. 

Part of Arthur was offended. Wanted to be angry at Merlin’s words. Wanted his bitter pride to rise up and tell Merlin to go to Hell. But… but he couldn’t. Not when his heart was aching. Not when he could see the unshed tears in the prince’s eyes. Not when this was all. His. Fault. 

Besides. Merlin was right. He was just a human. What good could he do?

But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not when Merlin was so angry at him. Not when he was in so much pain. Not when he hadn’t made things right. But he couldn’t keep arguing with the prince. It would just end in pain on both sides. So, Arthur just nodded woodenly and turned abruptly, opening the door with more force than he meant to, the heavy thing slamming into the wall. 

He was about to storm out when he nearly ran into a figure standing, frozen, before the door. For a heart stopping moment Arthur was afraid it was the king, or worse, Valiant, determined to get his revenge early. But his heart settled when he noticed the slight woman before him, brown eyes huge as she stared at his sudden appearance. Lady Freya. Good. Maybe she could help Merlin where he couldn’t. 

Giving her a strained smile, he darted around her and practically ran down the hall, down the stairs and into Gaius’s quarters. The older man startled when he saw Arthur, half standing as he saw the wild look Arthur was sure was in his eyes, but he just shook his head harshly as he sat at the dining table, dinner now cold. Arthur was starving again, but he didn’t think he could eat even if he wanted to. 

Heavy silence reigned for long moments until Gaius finally broke it, voice soft and tender once again. It made Arthur ache inside. He didn’t deserve such tenderness. 

“So. I heard about what happened today. Do you want to talk about it?”

_No_ , Arthur thought, shaking his head vehemently. He never wanted to talk about this. About his shame. But… but Gaius had been such a big help to him. And he looked so beseeching, so kind and open. Maybe he could help settle his racing thoughts.

And so, with a bit of trepidation, Arthur told Gaius everything. From his deal with Merlin. To the smug satisfaction in Valiant’s eyes as he got what he wanted. He relayed everything with efficient, detached words. He tried not to let the shame overtake him as he spoke. 

(There were some things, though, that he didn’t say. Couldn’t say, really. Like the moment in the alcove, when Arthur was so sure he knew what Merlin was about to do and had felt his heart race. Or what it had felt like, putting that charm on, like he was finally home. Or how Arthur’s every thought revolved around the prince and his wellbeing. Or how his heart ached at the thought of leaving. No. Somethings were better left unsaid.) 

Once he had finished, words dull and strained at the end, Gaius sat and hummed thoughtfully. He was quiet for a moment, making Arthur nervous, before he stood and made his way over to a dusty old book that was hidden behind a bunch of other medical books. 

“So. What do you plan on doing about this, my boy?” Gaius questioned, eyebrow raised. 

Well. He didn’t know. He was hoping Gaius would tell him that. 

“I don’t know, do I? Merlin wants me gone. I want to go home. This was never my plan, staying in Camelot, surrounded by people who hate me, serving a prat. Maybe… maybe it would just be best to listen. To go home. It’s not like I have any reason to stay.”

And yet... it felt like he did. Like something was keeping him here. It was ridiculous. 

And yet…

“Hm. Are you sure about that?” 

Well, what the hell was that supposed to mean? Arthur narrowed his eyes at Gaius, noting the too calm expression on the physician’s face. He was hiding something, he realized with a jolt, eyes widening before narrowing once more, jaw set. 

“What do you mean? What aren’t you telling me? Answer me, Gaius!” Arthur demanded, half standing to face the man. Gaius just rolled his eyes and did a placating motion with his hands, gesturing for Arthur to sit back down. After a moment, he listened, though not without a grumble. 

“I just meant, do you truly feel nothing for the young prince? Does he mean nothing to you?”

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean...”

Fuck. What did he mean? Merlin was certainly a puzzle. He ordered him around with a cruel smirk, reveling in his discomfort and pain. But sometimes he was just so… so damn noble. His eyes soft and smile sweet, like a little kid. It was…

“He’s infuriating. Rude. Cruel. A complete and utter prat. Yet sometimes… I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. He wants me to go. I can’t fight him on this. I’m just a servant. Why would he listen to me?” 

Arthur sighed as he finished speaking, arms crossing as he brooded, eyes on the cold chicken on the plate, unseeing. He felt drawn to Merlin. But it didn’t mean anything. Did it?

“Because the two of you are pulled together by destiny. Because he, Arthur, is your destiny.” 

Wait. What? 

Arthur looked at Gaius like he had gone mad. He still wasn’t fully convinced the physician wasn’t insane, but this proved it. After all, _Merlin_? His destiny? How would that even work? And how did Gaius of all people know? Unless… his heart dropped. 

“Is that why you’ve been helping me? Because you think that I, that Merlin and I are _destined_ for one another?”

It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t. But… he had thought… had thought Gaius cared. About him. Not some nebulous _destiny_ he possibly could have had. 

“No! No, my dear boy. Never,” Gaius swore, rounding the table to kneel before Arthur, hands reaching for his. Arthur thought about pulling back with a sneer but found he couldn’t. Gaius was the one person who had been truly kind to him since he had come here. Even if it were for a false prophecy, he couldn’t betray his kindness. 

“My care for you has nothing to do with your destiny. However, I fear it is your destiny that is making you feel so conflicted right now. I had hoped to never have to tell you. After all, it’s only speculation on my part. But the more I get to know you, the more I am certain of it. Tell me, Arthur. What do you know of the story of the Once and Future king?”

Arthur snorted. Not this nonsense again?

“Uh, it’s a child’s tale. A story that nonmagical parents tell their nonmagical children to comfort them at night. It’s not real.” 

He knew of the story, of course. It was a child’s fairy tale, telling of a kind and noble knight who would rise against the evil Sorcerer King, with the world’s most powerful warlock on his side. He was known as the Once and Future King, destined to reunite Albion for good, leading to decades of peace and prosperity throughout the lands. There were many variations of the story, even though King Balinor outlawed the telling of the tale, some saying the knight and warlock hated one another but worked together reluctantly, some calling them lovers. Regardless of the variations, they all agreed that the Once and Future King would be united with the world’s most powerful warlock, and together they’d defeat the sorcerer king. 

It wasn’t real, though. Arthur knew that. His mother used to tell him the story, soft smile on her lips as she ran gentle fingers through his hair. Arthur used to run around the house, brandishing a stick with a red towel tied around his neck, claiming that _he_ would be the fabled king. That he would defeat the evil sorcerer king and reunite Albion for good while his mother looked on with soft eyes. But that was just childish dreaming. It wasn’t _real_. After all, what warlock would go against his own kind like that? It made no sense. 

“I’m afraid that is where you are wrong, my dear boy. It’s real. After all, where do you think the story came from? The Great Dragon, Kilgharrah, spoke the prophecy 20 years ago, urging King Balinor to reconsider his decision. The Great Dragon spoke of the Once and Future King, destined to reunite Albion if the man went through with his plan to purge the lands of non-magical people. But King Balinor didn’t listen. He took the crown and raged against Kilgharrah, putting him in chains in a cavern under the castle, for his crime. The Great Dragon has resided there ever since, imprisoned for his prophecy. 

“But even King Balinor can’t change destiny. He may lock the dragon up, may stifle his words. But he can’t change what is. What will always be. There _is_ a Once and Future King. He will fulfill his destiny. And you, young Pendragon, are that king.”

Well. It was official. Gaius was insane. 

Arthur snorted, before laughing outright, even though his insides were frozen. It was funny. Him? The fabled king? Even if Gaius were right and it was a prophecy, there was no way it could be about him. Could it?

“You’re mad. Completely barmy! How do you figure that _I’m_ the Once and Future King? I’m not even a knight! I’m a simple farm boy, nothing more.” 

And yet… sometimes, when it was late at night, he wondered if he was destined for more. More than a simple life, far from any major town, in a village far detached from reality. He had been terrified, coming to Camelot. But he had wondered... had felt like maybe... Maybe it was right. Like he was finally doing what he was meant to do. He pushed it down, ignored the feeling. He had just come to solicit more grain and seed for his people. And even that he had failed. He couldn’t be the one destined to reunite Albion when he couldn’t even get the people in his small village more food. Could he? 

“Oh, dear Arthur. I fear you are far more than that. Didn’t you wonder why I insisted you keep your last name secret? The Great Dragon never mentioned who the Once and Future King would be, but there had been rumors. Whispers, looking towards your father.”

That made Arthur look up at the man kneeling before him, body tense. 

“My father?!” He demanded, eyes wide. He knew very little about his father. All he knew was that he had been a knight, once, the best in the land. He had been brave and just and true. And deathly proud, he thought wryly, remembering how his mother used to despair his pride, remarking he was so much like his father. He had always been so proud of that comparison, funny enough. But he knew nothing more than that. Didn’t know what had killed him. If he was, truly, dead. 

“Ah, yes. Uther Pendragon. I knew him well, many, many years ago. I would even dare say we were friends. He was an arrogant man but was fair. And could be kind if he wanted to be. At the time, if anyone could be the fabled king, it would have been him. Even before Balinor took the crown, there had been whispers of Uther taking over instead, rising up against the old heirless king, taking the crown himself. It was why your mother and father fled Camelot once King Balinor took power, taking you with them. I do not know what came of your father, the man too cautious to send a letter to inform me, but as soon as I heard your last name, I knew you must be the one the prophecy foretold. You are the Once and Future King, Arthur. And now, having seen you, gotten to know you? I am certain of this fact.”

None of this made any sense. Him, a king? And where did his father fit into all this? Or Merlin? It was nonsense. Utter hogwash. 

And yet...

And yet nothing! This was horse dung! He couldn’t… he wasn’t…

“And where does Merlin fit in, huh? Even if I-I am this supposed king. What does Merlin have to do with anything?!” 

Arthur was breathing hard, looking down at Gaius, who was still gently holding his hands in his. He yanked his hands away, standing, the chair he had been on scattering away on the ground. He had a moment to regret the harsh actions, but he couldn’t help it. He was so confused. He began pacing, eyes hard and jaw set. 

“Oh, my boy. Merlin is the other half of the prophecy. I knew that years ago. There is no one more powerful than him. It’s why the king is so hard on him. It’s not easy, knowing your son is destined to undo all your achievements. However, Merlin can never know his destiny. It would destroy him if he learned too soon.”

No. No. Definitely not. Arthur couldn’t help the harsh laugh he let out, shaking his head. Merlin would never betray his father. His _people_. And why would he? He was the prince! He had everything he ever wanted! His people were flourishing. Why would Merlin care about nonmagical people? He wouldn’t. He _couldn’t_. And he didn’t. He had proven that already. So what, he was kind to the young serving staff, smiling kindly at them as he handed out sweets? He still ordered them around. Ordered Arthur around. So he liked kids. It didn’t mean he’d betray his father. His _people_. Gaius must be mistaken. He said as much, wry smile on his lips as another harsh laugh escaped. It was not a nice sound. 

“If you do not believe me, maybe you’ll believe the Great Dragon. He is under the castle, in a cave. The entrance to his prison is guarded by fierce magic, but I can give you the key. Speak to him. He will tell you the truth. Kilgharrah is the most powerful of all the dragons, the only one gifted with true foresight. Any prophecy the Great Dragon spoke would, infallibly, come true. The king knows this. It’s why he is so afraid. Why he keeps Merlin under such a close eye. If you cannot believe me, believe Kilgharrah. He will tell you the truth.”

This was too much. Far, far too much. How?! How could this be true?! How could he be destined for such things?! He was a farm boy, for crying out loud! He couldn’t even afford a bed! He couldn’t be a king! 

And Merlin… Merlin couldn’t be his other half. This couldn’t be the reason he was so drawn to the other boy. It couldn’t. It _couldn’t_. 

But...

“I, I don’t know Gaius. None of this makes sense. I need… I need time. I need to think. I just… fuck,” Arthur whispered, suddenly feeling faint. Gaius stood quickly, hands reaching for him. Arthur ordinarily would have pulled away, pride bruised at needing any help, but as it was, he was grateful for the support. This was too much. His head swam, with both confusion and hunger. As his stomach let out another growl, Gaius tsked. 

“Alright, my boy. Calm down, calm down. It’s alright. Nothing needs to be done today. Come, eat. You must be starving. You’ve had a busy day. I’m afraid the chicken has gone cold, but it’s better than nothing. Eat. Drink. Rest. We can figure this out later. Merlin will be fine tomorrow. He knows about the blade, he’ll defend himself. Let us both get some rest, hm?” 

Okay. Okay. 

Arthur let himself get gently led to the table, swaying as Gaius picked the chair that he had knocked down back up. He felt shame at his actions, but it didn’t last long. He was tired. Far too tired. He didn’t even complain as Gaius pushed the dinner towards him, roast chicken with a lemon glaze. He was sure it probably tasted delicious, even cold, but he could only taste ash. 

Once the dinner was eaten, Gaius handed him a washcloth and told him to wipe the dirt of the day away. Arthur did as he was told woodenly, eyes dull and unseeing as his mind drifted in fog, thinking nothing. Once done, his legs dragged him back to his room, where he laid down and stared blankly at the ceiling, mind blank. There was too much. Too much to think about. So, he thought of nothing, until, hours later, he drifted away. 

And when he finally awoke, middle of the night, heart pounding from the nightmare he had had, full of Merlin’s dull, dead eyes, he looked to the nightstand and saw a small, nondescript key. 

And he knew what he had to do. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Merlin looked at the girl he loved like a sister and smiled weakly at her. She hesitatingly stepped inside, looking around the room cautiously. Like she expected it to be in ruin. Please. It had been years since he had last lost control so much that he wrecked his room. He had just made things shake a little. That’s all. 

“I heard what had happened at dinner today. I’m so sorry I hadn’t been there, Merlin. I should have been. You shouldn’t have had to face that alone.”

The words were soft and sweet, like the girl so often was. It was what had made Merlin fall in love with her, after all. Her sweet smile soothed the raging magic within him. He wasn’t in love with her anymore, he didn’t think, but he did love her dearly. 

Suddenly, the tears he had refused to shed before Arthur overflowed, soft sobs wracking through his body. Oh, God. What had he done? 

As Freya rushed towards him, a noise of concern releasing from her throat as she wrapped her arms around him, he could only spare a thought that at least now Arthur would be safe. He couldn’t bear the thought if Valiant took out his obvious rage on the boy. Arthur was too precious to lose. Merlin didn’t even bother to pretend otherwise, as he buried his head on Freya’s thin shoulders, letting the sobs thunder out. 

It hurt so badly. To know that Arthur was leaving. It had only been less than two weeks, and he was already so utterly gone on the boy. He didn’t understand why. What it was about the young farm boy that made his heart flutter like mad, his insides churning whenever he saw him. From the first moment he had laid eyes on that golden head of his, he had been too far gone. Lost in those brilliant blue eyes. 

He had never felt this way for anyone. Was it even love? Or something more? Something deeper? Merlin had heard tales of soulmates, people destined to be together for eternity, destined to find each other despite impossible odds, but that was just hogwash. Soulmates didn’t exist. 

He couldn’t stop the sobs, even as Freya shushed him, gentle hands carding so delicately through his hair. He wished she could have loved him. Wished they were together, so he wouldn’t feel this pain. 

“Tell me, Merlin. Please, tell me what is wrong. This is more than just what your father said, isn’t it? It’s about that servant of yours. Am I right?”

How? How had she guessed? How had she seen right through him? Or was he truly so transparent that anyone could see his most inner thoughts and feelings? God. Did his father know? He felt sick. 

“H-he, he’s not my servant. Not anymore. He’s going home. Far from here. I sacked him.” 

Freya cooed at that, as more tears escaped his eyes at the declaration. He felt like a fool, shame lacing his every breath, but it was alright since it was only Freya. They had always been close. If there was anyone that he didn’t mind knowing his secrets, it was her. She’d never betray him, he was positive of that. 

“Oh, Merlin. What did you go and do that for? It would have been alright. King Balinor would have forgiven him in time. In all likelihood he’s already forgotten all about him and his transgression.”

“No. You don’t understand. It has to be this way, Freya. It _has_ to be. He, he’s not safe here.”

And Merlin was certain of that. Arthur couldn’t stay. Camelot wasn’t the place for him. His home village was. Merlin didn’t even know the name of the village, not having bothered to ask either Arthur or Cerdan. But that was for the better. It meant he couldn’t run after him, even if he wanted. 

“What do you mean, Merlin? Tell me. Please,” she beseeched, wide eyes filled with love and understanding. And Merlin… Merlin broke. He couldn’t keep it to himself. It hurt too much. 

And so, he told her. Told her everything. From the moment they had met, to the confusing feelings inside him. To the pain and fear he had felt at dinner, when his father had threatened to put Arthur in the dungeons. He left nothing out, not even his clandestine walk with Valiant. Freya wouldn’t judge him. She was so kind. Even though she may be cursed, it didn’t change how amazing she was. 

When he finally finished talking, what felt like hours later, he was almost afraid to look over at her. At some point during the talk the pair had taken a seat before the fire, Freya having lit it with her sweet magic. His eyes were trained on the flames, wondering what it would look like to see Arthur burning within them. He shuddered at the thought. 

“Oh, my dear Merlin. You poor, poor boy. Look at me.” Merlin resisted, not wanting to see the sorrow in her eyes, the harsh understanding. But after a moment passed, he felt light fingers touch his cheek, gently tugging as Freya repeated, “look at me.”

He did. He couldn’t stop himself. And what he saw there almost made him cry again, heart shattering at the care and love he saw there. He didn’t deserve it. He was a horrible person. A monster. 

She shushed him again as a pained noise released from his throat, soft smile on her lips. 

“You love him, Merlin. Don’t deny it, I know it’s true. You _love_ him,” she stressed, shaking her head at his noise of protest. Her hand was still gently on his cheek, caressing the skin beneath. He wished once more that it were her that he loved with all his heart. Even if she never loved him back, at least she was a woman. It was easier to explain. Everyone already thought himself mad for her anyway. 

“I can’t be,” he gasped, loose tears spilling unwillingly from his eyes. Freya wiped them gently away as she hummed. “I barely know him. It, it’s been less than two weeks. How, how can I love him already? It’s not possible.”

“Oh, Merlin. Love works in mysterious ways. Didn’t you once say you had fallen for me the minute you laid eyes on me? All it takes is one glance. One look. The heart wants what it wants. And it can know immediately if something is true.”

“But he’s a man!” Merlin blurted out, heart clenched as more tears fell. And that was the crux of it. Arthur was a man. If he were a woman, this would be simple. Even without magic, his father would understand if he fell in love with a servant girl. He wouldn’t be allowed to peruse the relationship openly, but he wouldn’t be considered wrong. But this? He couldn’t love a man. While there were no laws against it, it was an unspoken truth that it was wrong. His father would hate him even more if he ever found out. 

“So? Why does that matter?”

She said it like it was simple. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Merlin stared at her with wide, panicked eyes. 

“B-because… because it’s wrong! He, he’s a man. I’m a man. Men don’t… love one another. It’s wrong. Everyone knows this.”

Merlin wasn’t expecting the look of hurt that filled Freya’s eyes at that comment. The pain, like he had hurt her with his words, not just himself. 

“Do you truly think that? That a man cannot love another man? Or that a, a woman shouldn’t love another woman? Why is it wrong? Who says it is wrong?” 

Merlin open and closed his mouth at that, heart pounding. Who said? Well… well everyone said! They always said it, in hushed tones, sneers on their faces as they spoke of anyone suspected of being like _that_. Man, woman. It didn’t matter. If you loved someone of your own gender, you were wrong. Merlin had learned that the hard way at age six, when his father had stormed in and grabbed his arm so tightly when he had caught him holding hands with a noble boy, their magic swirling together. His father explaining that he was a prince and that princes married young women, not men. Merlin hadn’t understood, then. He hadn’t wanted to marry the boy. He just thought him the prettiest thing he had ever saw and wanted to hold onto him. That was all. 

He understood now. What his father had seen. What his father had always seen. Merlin was wrong. Something was wrong with him. 

“Everyone, Freya. Everyone says it. I hear them. Th-their hatred. Anger. And father… father expects me to marry a woman. And I will! I have nothing against women! So, it’s fine! What I feel for Arthur… it’s nothing. It can’t be. I’m not wrong. I’m not… I’m not _broken_.“

Freya looked so heartbroken at his words that he couldn’t keep looking at her, his own heart breaking. He turned away, her gentle fingers dropping from his face as he turned back to the fire, feeling cold without their presence. 

“You… you truly believe that. I always thought… well. I never realized you were so closed minded,” Freya whispered, sounding near tears. But why? Why was she so distressed over this? 

“I’m not. I have nothing against people who… who are like that. They can’t help who they love. But I’m not. I can’t be. I can’t make father even more disappointed in me. I can’t Freya. You know that I _can’t_ “

“You say, Merlin Emrys, that you’re not against people ‘like that,’ and yet your words betray that. You can’t both be accepting and rejecting. It’s not possible.”

The words cut into him. It made him angry. She doesn’t understand! She’s not broken. Not like him. He told her as much. 

“You don’t get it, Freya. You don’t understand what this is like. To be so, so wrong inside. To want… you don’t get it. You can’t.”

“Oh, don’t I, Merlin Emrys?! Don’t I understand?! I understand better than anyone!”

Merlin had never heard her so angry before. He looked at her, startled, almost afraid of her enraged look. He didn’t understand why she was so angry, why… then he realized. And he huffed, rolling his eyes. 

“It’s not the same, Freya. Your curse was placed on you. It wasn’t your fault. This… this I was born with. I can’t, can’t help it. It’s wrong. I can’t... I can’t be like this. Father would hate me if he knew. So, he can’t. No one can. Ever.”

“So, I’m no one, now, hm? And I wasn’t talking about my curse, you bastard,” Freya hissed, voice low. Merlin was shocked. He had never heard her cuss before. And now he was confused. If she wasn’t talking about her curse, then…

“Do you… Merlin, do you remember that Druid girl, who visited us months ago? Her hair black as night, green eyes wide and innocent, her lips pink as a rose? Do you remember how she had helped Mordred, the pair so close, even after such a short time? I, I remember. I remember how I couldn’t stop thinking about her. How she would look at me, coy smile on her lips. How I couldn’t stop thinking about what those lips would feel like, until I tasted them. And once I did, how I never wanted anything else, ever. When she left, I fear my heart left with her. Tell me, Merlin. Am I wrong? For feeling this way. Am I broken?” 

Merlin couldn’t believe it. His eyes were wide as he stared at his pseudo sister. She… surely, she was lying. Trying to make him feel better. 

But… he did remember the Druid girl. How Freya had trailed after her, smiling so sweetly. At the time, he had assumed it had just been because she wanted another woman to talk to, stifled by the mostly male inhabitants of the castle. She had always been close to her handmaidens, too. When the Druid girl, Morgana he believed her name was, left, he had never seen Freya look so forlorn. Like she had lost something so precious. He hadn’t understood at the time. But now…

“Oh,” he whispered, suddenly hating himself even more. How had he not realized? They had been so close, for so long. Ever since his father had took her in when they were eight, her parents, friends of his father, having died fighting against an uprising of non-magical people. He had thought he had loved her, then, her beautiful brown eyes full of the same sadness he felt when he thought of his mother and what he had lost. The desire to relieve that pain, even a little. Now… now he knew he had felt kinship with her, back then. Love, but not the way he had thought. Maybe they were the same. Maybe. 

“So, you see, Merlin. If you are broken, well. Then so am I. It’s why I pushed you away when we were thirteen. I had known, then, what I was. And I knew you were the same, though you didn’t realize it. But… but I don’t think we’re broken. Just, different. It’s not wrong to love someone of the same gender. It’s not unnatural. How can something so wonderful be wrong? Those who are against it just don’t understand. And people always fear what they don’t know. We’re not wrong. I promise you, Merlin. I promise you.” 

God, he wanted to believe her. For so long he had hated this part of himself. Pushed it down, even as he had _known_ the truth. Only in the dark of the night, when alone would he entertain the thoughts. But no matter how true it felt, he always pushed it away. He had to. 

But if Freya, good, sweet, kind Freya was the same? Was like him? 

Well. Maybe… maybe she was right. Maybe he wasn’t broken. Maybe _they_ weren’t broken. Maybe it was just fear that made others hate people like them. Because Freya couldn’t be wrong inside. She couldn’t be broken. She was too good and just to be at all wrong. 

He swallowed dryly, laughing nervously. It felt almost treacherous to think such thoughts. Oh, if his father knew… but it felt good, too. Like he was finally free after being locked up for eons. Like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. 

“I do like women, though,” he said softly, wondering if that was wrong, too. “It’s not the same, not as intense, but it’s not nothing. Shouldn’t it just be one or the other? Not both?” 

Freya shrugged, grabbing his hands gently. 

“I’ve heard of people who like both genders equally. Some of the girls I’ve, um. Been with have said something similar about themselves. So that’s not wrong, either. There’s nothing wrong with you, Merlin. And if anyone says there is, well. They’re the wrong one, in my eyes.”

More tears rose to his eyes, unbidden. But he didn’t push them away. He just let them fall, a small, tentative smile on his lips. Freya smiled back, one hand gently rising to wipe the tears away. 

Merlin sighed, then looked down at the hands in his lap, Freya’s free hand grasping his so tightly. This was all fine and good. So maybe he was, well. Gay, he guessed. Or whatever the right term was. Maybe. It still didn’t help the predicament he was currently in. 

“Well. This is great, Freya, really it is. And I am grateful for you helping me. I, I’m not sure I fully believe you, but I trust you completely. But even still. It doesn’t help me with Arthur.”

His heart squeezed tight at the name of the boy he was coming to realize he was in love with. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how. But he knew it was true. And even if it weren’t wrong, it could never be. Arthur wasn’t like him. He couldn’t be. And even if he was? He still had his father to worry about. And besides. Arthur was likely long gone by now, glad to be free of Merlin, his tormentor. 

Great. He had just realized he was madly in love, and he had already lost him. Wonderful. 

“Maybe it could. Maybe if you told him-“

“No!” Merlin yelped before he even fully comprehended her soft words, magic swirling within him as fear filled his heart. Arthur could _never_ know. Never. 

Freya just rolled her eyes, her gentle magic pressing back against his. 

“Why not? It might help.”

“No, Freya. Please. H-he’s not like us. I know he isn’t. He’s too… too proud. Masculine. He’d never love a man. Certainly not me. He hates me! And he’s already gone. I bet he’s left the castle, even, on his way back home. He has no reason to stay here. Why would he? All I’ve done is torment him and yell at him. He hates me,” Merlin repeated, throat thick as he realized this truth. Arthur hated him. He’d always hated the boy’s hatred, but he couldn’t figure out how to stop hurting him. Tears filled his eyes again, but he refused to let them spill. Not over this. Over his own stupidity. 

Freya cooed at him, her right hand caressing his face while her left squeezed his hand tight. 

“I don’t think that’s true, Merlin. I don’t know him well enough to refute your claim that he’s not like us, but I highly doubt he hates you. I saw the look in his eyes when he was running out of here. He looked heartbroken. And I’ve seen how he looks at you when he thinks you’re not looking. The fondness. Yes, sometimes he does look at you with rage in his eyes. But I’ve seen the tenderness too. Whatever it is he feels, it’s far more complex than simple hatred. I would bet my life on it.” 

The tears began to spill then, even though he tried so hard to stop them. Damn him. Why couldn’t he just be a man? Why did he have to be so weak? How many times had he cried that night? A million? God. He was pathetic. Gay and pathetic. Fuck. 

Freya cooed again, pulling him into a hug. He wanted to resist, to say he wasn’t a baby, but it felt nice, being held. He often thought this is what having a mother would be like. Gentle. Sweet. He had never known his mother, the woman dying hours after his birth. But still, he had a feeling. Distant and strange. But he could have sworn this is what a hug from her would have felt like. 

He wanted her words to be true. To believe that Arthur didn’t hate him. But it was too good to be true. A dream. He knew he was right. He had driven the boy away and would never see him again. And it hurt. God, did it hurt. But maybe it was for the better. 

After all, what kind of life did he have here? A life of servitude, a life of being looked down upon? Arthur hadn’t spoken much about his home, but he knew there were no sorcerers there. He could be free. And with Merlin here, in Camelot, he could ensure that his village never ran out of food. If his father asked, he’d say he was just repaying his life debt, since the boy was no longer in his employ. Arthur was too beautiful and brilliant and bright to be kept locked up, here. His light would die if he were kept here for too long. Merlin knew this. It had already been dulled too many times, that emptiness in the boy’s eyes cutting. 

No. This was for the better. Wasn’t there an old phrase about something like this? If you love something, let it go? If it returns it was meant to be. If it doesn’t… well. It never was.

He didn’t tell Freya this. He knew she would try and talk him out of it. Try and persuade him to go after Arthur. But he couldn’t. It would just hurt them both in the long run. Arthur didn’t belong here. He deserved to be free and happy and loved. Merlin couldn’t love him here. Not freely. Not openly. Even if Arthur wanted that, it was impossible. No. This was for the best. Freya might not see that, but he did. 

He did. 

So, he carefully disentangled himself from his honorary sister and smiled at her as well as he could. He knew she realized he was done talking about this, and while he saw resistance in her eyes, she let it go. Probably not forever. But for now, she did. He loved her for it. Just not the way he was supposed to love her. 

They spoke softly about other things after that. How well he’d been doing so far in the tourney, how pleasant the weather had been. He’d even laughed a little, giggling at a story Freya told about the serving boy who kept playing pranks on Cook, the cantankerous old head chef of Camelot. It was nice. Light. Easy. 

When she finally left, an hour before midnight so she could take her potion that let her control herself during her transformation, she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and a soft smile. 

“Think about what I’ve said, dear Merlin. I know you’re afraid. I know you’re hurting. But don’t push this away. Don’t push him away. If he comes back, welcome him. You don’t have to tell him how you feel, not yet, but don’t push him away. You deserve something nice. Something uniquely yours. And I think this boy could be that for you. If you let him. Just, well. Think about it.” 

With that she swept away, like she hadn’t just stabbed him in the heart. After a moment of staring after her like a fool, he closed the door and wandered over to his bed. He hadn’t taken his bath yet, having fired his servant before he could request one, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t that disgusting yet. He carefully got out of his day clothes and into his nightwear, which was a plain tunic shirt and a pair of his softest trousers. 

And as he laid down to sleep, he tried not to think of Freya’s soft words. 

Because Arthur was already gone. There was no hope of him returning. And why would he? What could Merlin possibly give him that he would want? Nothing, he knew. Absolutely nothing. He had spent his days making Arthur’s life a living hell. He wouldn’t stay if he’d been in his shoes. He’d have left at his first chance of not offending the king with his retreat. He didn’t blame Arthur for it. He just regretted not being nicer to the boy. Kinder. 

As he started to drift off, he made himself a vow. 

If Arthur did return. If, against all odds, he was willing to come back and serve him again. 

If. 

Then he would never take advantage of the boy again. Never make him clear stables that could be easily cleaned by stable hands. Never force him to do degrading, disgusting tasks. He’d be just, and fair. The kind of person he always wanted to be. Had always fancied himself to be. 

And he’d never force himself on the boy. Never. He’d keep his feelings a secret, to the grave, if he had to. Arthur would never know, never feel pressured to give in to his master’s desires. Merlin had heard stories of cruel Nobles who took advantage of their servants, raping them and using them for their own pleasure. That wouldn’t be him. Arthur had no say as long as he was his servant. The abuse of power would be too much. He could never know if Arthur really cared for him, or if he was just trying to please him. 

No. 

His feelings would have to be locked away. He may be an open book, but he could lie if he wanted. If he needed. And this? This was worth lying about. 

If Arthur came back. 

Which he wouldn’t.

(Merlin prayed he would.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the end is a bit... eh. I mostly just wanted to put a rest to Merlin's Gay Panic. Also, no idea why I made Valiant gay, too, but I thought Merlin might need a push into things, so yeah. I didn't bother making this Valiant like the show one, I just used him to my own ends, ha. 
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	5. Uneven Odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _~~~Maybe your light is a seed_   
>  _And the darkness the dirt_   
>  _In spite of the uneven odds_   
>  _Beauty lifts from the earth_   
>  _From the earth~~~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legit don't have words for this chapter. I'm... eh. Rereading this story is just meh to me. I'll keep posting, once or twice a week, but I'm not pleased with how it's written. I don't have the energy to fix it up, either. Maybe one day I'll go back and make this better, but for now I'm just gonna post and hope some people like it. 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments! I keep forgetting to say that. It does mean a lot to me. <3 
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the Sleeping at Last song, [Uneven Odds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hJpZcW6pIA&list=PLOV76J4b4cmiMIZrwhX1VmsnE89VeTnMu&index=2&t=0s). It's a good song, I recommend looking it up. If you click the link on AO3, it should lead to the song, as well as a YouTube playlist I created for this fic. It has a bunch of songs that will make up the titles of chapters later on.

Arthur’s heart pounded as he carefully descended the steep, roughly hewn steps. He had managed to evade all the guards, his days learning to be silent in preparation for a hunt paying off. Merlin’s medallion helped him go through some basic spells without raising any alarms, he was sure, since the pendant would grow warm sometimes when he passed through a particular doorway. And the key Gaius had left him had gotten him through the ancient door blocking a path in the dungeons. 

He didn’t even know how he knew which way to go. He just… followed his instincts. Which had led him to the old, worn door in the dungeon. Well. Not like he had anything to lose.

(Expect his life. There was that.)

And now here he was, hands shaking as he descended the ancient staircase, breath ragged and overly loud in the deafening silence. He had a torch in his right hand, lighting up the way, but it wasn’t enough. The darkness before him seemed all-encompassing, like he’d be swallowed if he entered. 

God. 

What if Gaius was right? What if he _was_ the ‘Once and Future King,’ whatever the hell that meant? How was he, a farm boy slash hunter, supposed to rule a kingdom? He knew his family had been Nobles once, now knew his father had been a knight. But he wasn’t, never had been. The knighthood had been disbanded before he was even a year old. He was good with a sword, but that was about it. 

Well... he was good at planning. And at getting people to follow him no matter the consequences. He had a good head for battle, though he’d never been involved in one, his uncles having taught him since childhood. He was excellent at chess, seeing his opponent’s move long before they did. He also cared deeply about his people, willing to do anything for them. Even die if he must. 

But all that meant nothing! Being a king meant so much more than that. It meant making hard decisions, like war or food cuts. He knew it did. He hadn’t served Merlin long, but he had seen some of the paperwork the boy did. It made his head (and heart) hurt to just think about. Yes, he knew how to read and write, his mother having taught him. But what good did that do him? He couldn’t be a king. He couldn’t rule. He just… he couldn’t. 

He could never put his people in any harm’s way, no matter the consequences.

So, he couldn’t be the fabled king. The dragon would tell him this, laughing that anyone could _ever_ even _think_ that he, Arthur Pendragon, could ever be a king. It was ludicrous, and he was sure he and the... the dragon would have a good laugh before the giant lizard ate him. Because that’s what dragons did. Or so he’d heard. 

Heart pounding, Arthur realized he had reached the bottom of the steps. Oh, God. Oh no. What was he doing? Why was he here?! He should have just gone home! Merlin didn’t want him. Gaius was right, he’d be fine on his own, stopping Valiant with his breathtaking magic. He could have just left, and no one would have been any the wiser. Instead he was here. In a damp, musty old cave. About to talk to a _dragon_ about a child’s fairytale. God he was fucked. 

Before he could scamper back up the stairs and away from this nightmare, courage long gone, he heard the sound of wings unfolding. Like the bats he had seen flying around at night, but so much louder. He almost yelled and dropped his torch when he heard a deep laugh, echoing the cave before him.

“You know, I was wondering when you’d come to visit me, young Pendragon. I was starting to think you were just that obtuse. I’ve been calling to you every night, after all. But you don’t have even an ounce of magic in you, do you? Pity,” the deep voice mused, sounding far too amused. 

If Arthur were a lesser man, he’d have soiled himself and run away screaming, raving about the monster under the castle. As it was, he was sorely tempted to do the latter, but never let it be said that Arthur Pendragon was a coward. And so, heart pounding and terror flowing through his veins, Arthur squared his shoulders and set his jaw, and walked into the lion’s den. Or, well. Dragon’s cave. 

The first thing he thought upon seeing the dragon was that it was incredible. Probably the most magnificent, breathtaking thing he had ever seen. Golden-red scales, brilliant golden eyes which held an ancient intelligence and wisdom. It truly was a fantastic beast.

The second thought was _HOLY FUCKING SHIT THAT’S A MOTHERFUCKING DRAGON WHAT THE FLYING FUCK AM I DOING HERE?!_

He hoped the dragon couldn’t read minds. Judging by the oddly amused look in the giant lizard’s eyes, Arthur figured he was out of luck. 

“Well, well, well. It’s good to finally see you in the flesh. Though you look too much like your father for my liking. Never did like that man. I wonder what kind of a man you will be, hm? If you’ll be any better than him.”

The dragon. Was talking to him. Logically, he had known that the dragon had been the voice he had heard earlier, but he hadn’t really appreciated that fact. He hadn’t known dragons could even talk, honestly. Then again, he didn’t know much about magical creatures. 

The musing words caught up to him then, his eyes narrowing as the beast mentioned his father. Did everyone here know his father?!

“What do you know of my father?!” Arthur yelled, the words bouncing off the cave, making him wince. He hadn’t meant to be so loud. The dragon just tutted, shaking its giant head. 

“Not much, but enough. I know what kind of man he could have become, in another life. The world he would have created, had destiny followed a different path. So much pain. So much death. I had almost believed this would be a different world, but I was wrong. There’s just as much death at Balinor’s hand as there could have been at Uther’s. Who has died matters not. Not to the universe. But let us not waste our breath on him. It’s you, young Pendragon, that we are here for. After all. You are the Once and Future King.”

The dragon’s words made no sense. Death? Another life? His father? What was he saying? But the last words. Those made the least sense of all. Because if they were to be believed then that meant… that meant that _he_...

“N-no. No! You’re wrong. You’re, you’re crazy! I’m not… I _can’t be_ … no. You’re lying! Take that back!” 

Arthur shouted his words, anger and dread filling him. He didn’t want this. He hadn’t ever wanted this. He wanted to go home. To farm and hunt and laugh with his friends. To kiss Gwen and snipe with Morgana. To eat his mother’s pie as he told her about his day. He didn’t want to be a king. To be a savior. 

He was just a boy. A simple farm boy. 

He was nothing, honestly. 

He took half a step back as the dragon roared, eyes wide as he saw the creature rear up in anger. He was positive he was about to become a Roast Arthur just then, wanting to close his eyes to his death but refusing to die so cowardly. Instead he stared straight at the dragon, eyes hard as steel as he faced his death. 

But instead of death, he got words. He wasn’t sure which was worse. 

“Don’t you insult me, Arthur Pendragon! You think I would be here if I weren’t positive of my prediction?! I could be free, flying these skies, not a care in the world! But no. I am here, trapped, all because I spoke the truth. All because Balinor was not the man I had hoped he was. I know your destiny, Arthur Pendragon. I know it well.”

Oh. God. Please help him. 

As the words washed over him, he couldn’t help but realize the truth. It was like he had been doused with icy water, like his body was freezing from the inside. Like that curse Valiant had placed on him earlier, but this time, Merlin’s magic couldn’t protect him. 

Merlin…

“Fine. Fine! Let’s say I believe you. Let’s say I- I am the _Once and Future King_ ,” he spat, hating the taste of the words. “Let’s say that all of that is true. But what about Merlin? What about him?” 

He was almost offended when the dragon laughed at that, the sound booming off the cave walls. They were so far underground that he doubted anyone could hear them, but still, he wouldn’t have been surprised if all of Albion heard the beast’s laughter. He hated it. 

“And what about him? What, are you hoping that he’s somewhere in your destiny, little king? Hm?” 

Okay. It’s official. He _hated_ this dragon. This dragon and his, his… amused voice.

Arthur, against his will, felt himself flush, hand clenching around the torch he still held. 

“N-no! I just… Gaius said…” he was interrupted by the dragon laughing again, which made him angrier. “Oh, fuck off! I was just wondering who my supposed counterpart would be! That’s all!” 

The dragon’s chuckles died down, but the amused look never left his eyes. Oh, fuck him. Fuck him and his fucking prophecy. What did Arthur care about any of this anyway?! Even if the dragon were telling the truth, _if_ , then why would it even bother him at all? It didn’t. Couldn’t. 

“And you assume the young prince is that counterpart, hm? Assume, or wish, I wonder.” 

Arthur gnashed his teeth and prepared to about face and exit this godforsaken cave and never return. He was beyond tired of the dragon’s insinuations. But the dragon‘s next words froze him, making his heart stop once more. 

“Well, you would be right. Merlin is as much a part of your destiny as you are, I’m afraid. Two sides of the same coin. Never one without the other. Tied together by the hands of Fate herself. You’ll never be free of him, I’m afraid. Though, I doubt you’d mind that very much, hm, little king?” 

Oh. Ohhhh. Oh no. Oh fuck. 

Why. Why?! Why him?! Why couldn’t it have been some other poor schmuck, pulled into a destiny he never wanted, never asked for?! He had just wanted grain for his people! He had just wanted them to not starve! Was that too bloody much to ask?! Why did fate hate him?! 

Because now here he was, being told _Merlin_ of all people was his destiny. Merlin! The biggest prat of all pratdom! The person who had already sacked him, who never wanted to see him again! Even if he _were_ his counterpart, he’d already fucked that up. Merlin hated him, never wanted to see him again. 

Well, he thought with smug glee, at least he could toss that at the dragon. Ruin his grand “prophecy,” or whatever. 

“Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m already free of him. He sacked me, never wants to see me again. So! Guess my destiny is finished, huh? No grand future for me! Just my home and my mother and my-“

His smug words were cut out by more laughter. Okay. That was it. He was going to kill this dragon if it was the last thing he did. 

“Oh, if only it were that simple! No, Arthur. You’ll never be free of your destiny. Not as long as you are living. You are bound to the young Emrys, no matter what either of you say. Not that you mind, hm?”

Why could dragons smile? How was it possible for a beast with no lips to smile so smugly? He hated it. Magic was the worst. 

“No. You two will find a way to work together. It was destined long before you two were even born. You’ve been bound by Fate herself, and nothing can unwind her weave. I’m sorry, young Pendragon. But you can’t escape your fate. This is your _destiny_!“ 

Before Arthur could counter, could even begin to hope to refute the creature’s words, the dragon stretched his mighty wings and flew into the air, creating a wind so powerful it almost knocked him down. He cried out, yelling at the dragon, words unclear as he just shouted. But the dragon was already gone. 

Well. Fuck him, eh? 

Arthur stood there for long minutes, eyes wide as he stared into the empty blackness of the cave. Finally, he gained enough control of his legs to move, woodenly marching up the stairs, putting the torch he had borrowed back. 

He barely remembered the walk back to his room, glad of his naturally stealthy ways as he managed to avoid detection. 

As he laid down in his bed, eyes wide at the ceiling, he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do. Him? A king?! Ha! Ha, ha, ha! It was laughable! He didn’t know how to be a king, not now, not ever! 

_But Merlin did,_ a voice whispered, freezing his heart. Fuck. 

He didn’t want to think of the prince. Of his bloody _counterpart_. Of the _other half of his coin_. He didn’t need him! He didn’t need anyone, save perhaps his mother! 

He refused. He refused! He wouldn’t be king. No way, nuh uh, no how. 

But… it was said that the Once and Future King would bring peace to Albion. And, if King Balinor was overthrown, then his village would never have to worry about going hungry again. If he could do that… if he could free them, _all_ of them… then… didn’t he have the obligation to try? He wasn’t a coward. He would do the right thing no matter what. So, if what the dragon said was true… if he could bring peace to the land… didn’t he owe it to his people to try? 

But this was madness! First of all, he was a farm boy. _Second_ of all, Merlin still hated him! _Third of all_ , even if he _did_ manage to make Merlin stop hating him, why on earth would Merlin ever help him?! King Balinor was his father! He was going to be king himself, one day! Even if he did want to help nonmagical people, he’d want to do it with himself as king. Not Arthur, his manservant. If Arthur were in his shoes, he’d never give his birthright away to a farm boy! It was laughable! 

_Or maybe they both could be king_ , that awful voice in him said, his blood running cold at the thought as he blanched.

No. No! That would require them to, for _him and Merlin_ to… fuck, he couldn’t even think the thought. Like he had already said, he _wasn’t_ … that. No way. 

Though, Merlin did look rather handsome in those ceremonial robes of his…

Nope! Not happening! So much had already changed, he didn’t need his own sexuality to be put into question too! 

He liked girls. _Girls_. Women. Breasts. Cunts. Not… not cocks. 

Though…

Oh hell no. 

Furious at himself, Arthur turned over to sleep, forcing the thoughts to exit his head. Thoughts that had already plagued him long enough, thank you very much. Thoughts that had popped up only when he had been hunting for long hours, exhaustion eating away at him, his eyes lingering too long on Leon’s toned arms, or Gwaine’s pert buttock. Or Lancelot’s handsome face. Or… needless to say, the thoughts were bloody annoying. And wrong! 

Women. He liked women. Not men. 

Not _Merlin_. 

That settled, he cleared his mind and settled in to sleep. 

Too bad it wouldn’t come for hours yet. 

Balls. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~

The problem that the previous night had caused, Arthur found out when he woke far too early the next morning, groaning as he listened to Gaius puttering around downstairs, mind exhausted, was that it made him forget his current problem. Like the fact that Merlin was fighting Sorcerer Valiant today and was surely going to lose. 

He didn’t know why he felt like that. Merlin was a powerful sorcerer and had believed him when he pointed out the knife. He’d be able to defend himself. But something nagged at him, in his head, that if he didn’t help Merlin, if he didn’t catch Valiant in the act… well. He couldn’t help but feel that Merlin would die. And that thought killed him inside.

_Was this the bond between them_ , Arthur wondered, eyes unfocused as he sat up and put his day clothes on. Was that what he was feeling? No. It couldn’t be. It was just nerves. 

Or maybe…

Oh, fuck it. What did he have to lose? His life? Ha! He’d already lost that when the dragon had informed him of his thrice damned _destiny_. No. He wasn’t afraid of dying. Not now that he had a worse fate awaiting him. 

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, sure not to be the last he ever gave, Arthur stormed downstairs, ignoring the puzzled look Gaius gave him. He accepted the simple breakfast of porridge and sweet raspberries without complaint, mind too conflicted to offer even a token protest. Besides. He was so sick of starving all the time. And if this was to be his life for the foreseeable future, well. A king never starved, he thought humorlessly. 

The meal passed mostly in silence, Gaius seemingly content to just give him The Eyebrow (as Arthur was starting to call it) in silence. But his luck was never good, and so right as he was about to get up to wash the dishes clean, he heard Gaius clear his throat. Balls. 

“So, Arthur. You look troubled this morning. Anything you wish to talk about?”

Oh, no, nothing much. Just that fact that he was apparently destined to be the Once and Future King, Merlin at his side. No biggie. 

Despite himself, he let out a snort, unable to help it. Rolling his eyes, he stood and grabbed their bowls. At least he could be doing something useful during this conversation. 

“Hm. Well, have you thought about what I told you? About the dragon?”

Oh, yeah. He had thought about it alright, he brooded, slamming the bowls into the water with a sick vengeance. There. Take that, evil bowls. 

After a minute passed with no word from Arthur, the man content with drowning the innocent bowls and spoons, he heard Gaius sigh again before he stood. Arthur tensed when he felt the older man behind him, tensed further when he felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder. 

“Arthur. Arthur, look at me. Please.”

Goddamn it. Couldn’t he have one day of peace? Just one?

But no. Because he was the damn _Once and Future King_.

Damn him. Damn his life. Damn this whole situation. 

But it wasn’t Gaius’s fault. And so, he turned, lip wobbling despite himself. Oh great. Now he was turning into a girl. Just lovely. Maybe he could be the Once and Future _Queen_ instead, hmm? 

“Yeah,” he intoned, mirthless smile on his lips, which were still twitching no matter how hard he tried. “Yeah, I thought of it. Thought of it as I went down to that fucking cave. As that fucking dragon told me that I… that I’m…” he hated himself that his voice broke. But he pressed on. He had to, or else he was going to break down. 

“It’s not fair, Gaius. Why me? I’m just a farmer. A, a servant. Nothing. I’m nothing. How can I be expected to free anyone? I couldn’t even get my own village more grain! I can’t overthrow a sorcerer king! I can’t even help stupid Merlin, my supposed counterpart, the bloody _other half of my bloody coin_! I can’t do this, Gaius. The dragon was wrong. I’m not the fabled king. I can’t be.”

His voice broke again. Damn him. 

As his eyes filled with tears once more, proving how unfit he was for this job, he heard Gaius let out a sound of sympathy before arms wrapped around him once again. Arthur wanted to push away, to distance himself, but his arms raised despite himself, wrapping tight, but not tight enough, around Gaius. And if tears escaped his closed lids as he buried his face in the other man’s shoulder, well. He was sure Gaius wouldn’t tell anyone. 

“Oh, there, there, my dear boy. It’s alright. Don’t you worry, now. You’ll do just fine. I knew the moment I saw you that you were destined for great things. This is no different. You will free Camelot, unite Albion, save us all. You will be a great man, Arthur, and an even greater king. I know it.” 

He wished he could say he took the words with grace, like a man. But that would be a lie. He refused to cry anymore though, so with a deep gasp, Arthur pulled away, wiping his eyes roughly as his back hit the barrel he’d been washing the dishes in. 

“I don’t know, Gaius. I don’t know anything. I want to believe you, believe me, I do. But I’m not a king. I’m not.”

“No, you’re not,” Gaius agreed, tearing his heart apart. Before he could reel back, eyes wide with hurt, he felt a gentle hand touch his arm, kind eyes sparkling at him. “Not yet. But you will be, Arthur. Oh, you will be. The greatest of them all.” 

Well. His emotions sure were taking a beating these days. Boy did he miss the days where the worst pain he felt was from the idea that Gwen would leave him for stupid, noble Lancelot. Not that he and Gwen had ever really been together, of course. It had been a possibly, though. Once. Not anymore. He couldn’t drag her into this mess. She was too pure to be tainted by his rotten destiny. 

Maybe, in another world, that other life the dragon spoke about, she could have been his Once and Future Queen. But not here. Not in this destiny. 

With a soft sigh, Arthur shook his head, not denying it but just… too tired to argue. 

“Alright. Fine. That still doesn’t help me with Merlin.”

Nothing could help him with Merlin. 

Gaius looked confused, as he stepped away and took a seat at the table. 

“Well, what about Merlin?” He asked. Like it was a mystery. 

Arthur looked at Gaius like he was stupid. 

“Uh, hello? The tourney? Did you forget about that? Not to mention the fact that he fired me. Which, by the way, is bloody great. I’m forced to stay here in Camelot and its bloody prince has practically banished me. Just my luck,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. He was quickly coming to hate this great destiny of his. 

Gaius ignored his muttering and hummed, stroking his chin. 

“Ah, yes. That. Well, I don’t think we have to worry about the tourney. Merlin is the world’s greatest sorcerer, a fact proven by the Great Dragon. So, we shouldn’t have to worry about him. And as for him firing you, well, that’s an easy remedy. I’ll speak to him tonight and I’m sure he’ll be willing to give you another try.”

Uh, yeah. Like hell would that happen. Arthur still remembered the look of pain on the prince’s face as he told him to get out, likely hating him for humiliating him in front of the king. He would hate Merlin if their roles were reversed. And besides…

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Gaius. I don’t know why, but my gut is telling me that if I don’t do something, Merlin is going to die today. I don’t know what it means or what I’m supposed to _do_ , but I just know he’s in danger. And I have no idea how to help.”

Well, that got Gaius’s attention. Arthur almost laughed cruelly as the physician’s eyes widened in panic, mouth open in a gasp. 

“Oh, dear, well that does complicate things,” the older man said, eyebrows lowered as he thought. Well, at least he didn’t argue with him and just took him at his word. 

A moment passed as Gaius thought, when Arthur had a revelation. 

“Oh! I know! We can get Merlin to wear those chain thingies, what are they called… chain mail? Yeah. That should keep him safe, especially from such a small blade. Gwen’s dad gave me one once, saying it could protect against quite a lot of force.” 

“Yes, that would work. If chain mail wasn’t outlawed and impossible to come by,” Gaius stated drily, rolling his eyes. Oh, screw him. It was a good idea. 

“Uh, yeah. I know that. I may, uh. Happen to, I don’t know. Have some. And I could have you, maybe, deliver it to him, for me? Maybe?” 

He hadn’t meant to sound so uncertain. Kings were never uncertain. 

“Ah. We can talk about that later. Even still, I doubt Merlin would accept. Even if I asked him to. He may not have your deadly pride, but he is a proud man. He’d never do anything that might shame his father. And if he was caught wearing outlawed armor, well. I doubt he’d agree, is all.”

Ah, damn pride. The world would be a better place without such a thing. 

Arthur sighed, putting his head in his hands as he sat at the table, pulling his golden hair. It was starting to get a bit long, he noticed absently. He should cut it. 

“Well. I’m out of ideas. Guess the prince is destined to die today. Hey, do you think if Merlin dies, our shared destiny will die with him? Can’t be the Once and Future King without my powerful sorcerer, right?” 

The glare Gaius gave was withering, but hey. He had to ask. 

“I doubt it would be that simple. And I highly doubt you’d be as happy as you may wish to be if he truly did die. I know you care about him. Even before knowing about your destiny you did.”

Oh, fuck him. Really. To his everlasting mortification, Arthur’s face heated, though he tried to hide it with a scowl. 

“No… no, I don’t think so. I think that I’d be ecstatic if the prat died. In fact, I’d be bloody overjoyed,” Arthur lied, stomach twisting at even the thought. Oh well. At least he tried. 

Gaius didn’t believe him for a second, but said nothing against it, just shook his head while he raised The Dreaded Eyebrow (he had revised his earlier moniker. It definitely deserved the addition).

“Hm. Well, I wouldn’t. So, we’ll have to think of something. The final battle starts in half an hour.” 

Oh, shit. That little time? Crap. 

Biting his lip, Arthur stood up and began to pace. Bloody prince. Infecting him with his damned pacing. 

Okay. He’d think of something. He was good with plans. He was a bright person; his mother had always said so. He even knew math, sort of. His uncles Agravaine and Tristan had taught him. If he could understand algorithms, he could figure out how to save the life of a stubborn, beautiful prince. Wait. Not beautiful. Aggravating. That’s it. Annoying, boastful, stunning prince. Fuck. 

As he paced, Gaius stood up, grabbing his robe to leave. Arthur did the same, though he didn’t have a fucking _robe_. Just his threadbare red jacket. It had served him well, over the years. His mother claimed it had been his father’s, once, though he wasn’t sure about that. He would never admit it, but he loved the old thing. 

The two made it out to the courtyard in no time, hurrying to the field the tourney took place in. As they arrived, the crowd already roaring with excitement, Arthur felt his heart plummet. 

He had nothing. No plan. No idea. God, he was about to watch his other half die, and he had nothing. Some king. 

He stood beside Gaius, nerves shot as he shook slightly, worrying his bottom lip. It was a bad habit, but one he couldn’t kick. At least it wasn’t a bottle. The minutes passed slowly as he watched the arena slowly fill, people taking seats as the sun shined brightly overhead. They had no idea they were about to watch an execution. 

Finally, after what Arthur was sure was eons, the gong rang, King Balinor striding out, grin on his face. He said some words, probably something about nobility, magic, other such nonsense. He didn’t hear a word, ears roaring with the beat of his heart. Well. This was it. His destiny, ended, before it even began. For all he hated the damned thing, he almost regretted it. Maybe it would have been fun. With Merlin by his side, at least. 

His throat was thick as he watched as that bastard Valiant strode in, cocky grin on his face. His eyes darkened when he saw Arthur before a smug light filled them. Arthur just took a step back, behind the edge of the stands. He could still see, but he didn’t want Merlin to catch sight of him, lest it ruin his concentration or something. Maybe Gaius was right, he thought weakly. Maybe Merlin would be fine, his _magic_ saving him. After all, like Merlin had said. He’s just a human. How could he protect a warlock prince? 

And then there he was. Shining brightly, a grin on his face as he strode into the arena, soaking in the well-earned applause, so damned beautiful Arthur almost hated him for it. 

Merlin. 

No one in the stands knew about Merlin’s supposed cowardice the other night. They just saw their reigning champion, their beloved prince, and gave him the adoration he deserved. 

Privately, in the safety of his own head, Arthur cheered too. 

The king said some more words, but Arthur didn’t care one tit. His eyes were trained on Merlin, on the way his hands fiddled at his side, his eyes darting around, like he was looking for someone. Arthur took another step back, ignoring Gaius’s confused look. He couldn’t let the prince see him. He couldn’t stand the look of hatred he was sure he’d find. 

Soon after that, the fight began, Merlin a force to be reckoned with as he danced around the arena, eyes bright and alive. He was so utterly stunning that for once, Arthur didn’t berate himself for the thought and just basked in the glory that was his other half. If he could be destined for this powerful man, he mused absently, maybe he actually was worth something. 

It didn’t stop the rush of adrenaline every time Valiant got near. But Merlin was smart. He knew about the blade. He was careful to stay far away, on the other side of the arena as he hurled his magic. That was the good thing about sorcery, Arthur supposed. One didn’t need to be near their target to use it. 

The battle raged for what felt like hours but what could only have been minutes, perhaps ten to fifteen, the two sorcerers locked in heated battle, neither yielding. Arthur had almost relaxed, allowed himself to be lost in the rush of the crowd. Clearly, his feeling had been wrong. Merlin would be just fine. 

And then. 

Then. 

Arthur saw it before it even happened. He knew battle, breathed battle. His uncles Tristan and Agravaine had gone over countless former battles with him, Arthur never understanding why but loving the attention his usually busy uncles gave him. He knew the bait that Valiant gave Merlin. Knew the second that Merlin let the other too close, eyebrows furrowed as he cast his magic. He didn’t see the hand that disappeared into a billowing sleeve. Didn’t see the flash of silver. 

But Arthur did. 

Heart pounding, a moment of terror filling him as he watched with horror, the world almost moving in slow motion as he watched the thin blade as it rushed towards his other half, Arthur didn’t even think as he stepped out from behind the stands and shouted, loud as he could. 

“MERLIN! STEP BACK!” 

He shouldn’t have done it. He regretted it as soon as it left his lips. Idiot! He was just going to distract Merlin, preventing him from defending himself! He didn’t even know why he had said it, the words leaving his lips unbidden. It was like they had been forced from his lips by a force stronger than he, himself, was. As his eyes widened, sure he was about to watch his prince get stabbed to death, he held his breath. 

But…

But, instead of startling, instead of taking his eyes off his opponent and looking for the voice that had bellowed over the roar of the crowd, Merlin…

Merlin did as he commanded. 

Quick as a wink, Merlin took a step back. Not a moment too soon, because as soon as he did, the knife lashed out, silver catching the eye of the entire audience. But instead of implanting itself deep into Merlin’s sternum, like planned, it barely nicked his side, causing Merlin to hiss in pain, but not fall in death. 

Valiant knew he had been caught. Everyone saw the offending blade, a fact made known by the gasps that filled the audience, the members pointing with wide eyes. King Balinor was half standing, eyes wide and angry as he realized his son had been right, calling for the guards. Well, good. At least the bastard now knew he was _right_. 

But Valiant wasn’t one to be beat. Quick as the viper his crest displayed, he grabbed Merlin and placed the blade under his neck, eyes wide as he told the advancing guards to back away or he’d kill the prince. 

Idiot. 

Arthur watched with pride as Merlin, over his shock, blasted the sorcerer back with magic, the blade hovering in midair as its wielder hit the wall of the stands, instantly unconscious. The guards grabbed him, another striding towards Merlin to make sure he was alright. Arthur was too far away to hear what was said, but he saw Merlin shake his head, handing the guard the blade and he pointed in his direction, eyes trained on the same place. 

Over toward Gaius, Arthur assumed. After all, the boy was bleeding something fierce. The blow might not be fatal, but it looked bad. Worse than Arthur’s previous assessment that it was ‘barely a nick.’

And yet. As the crowd turned away, gossiping amongst themselves about the spectacle they had seen, it wasn’t Gaius that Merlin strode towards, jaw set and eyes wide. 

For a heart stopping moment he thought Merlin was about to hit him, angry he had defied him and returned. But before he could let himself get angry (hey, he _had_ just saved the bastard’s life), Merlin had reached him. And instead of punching him, like he had thought, Merlin-

Huh. 

Merlin hugged him. 

It took him a moment, stunned as all hell. 

What. What?! He’s sorry, but was he really getting hugged right now?! Oh. Ohhh. Why the hell was he supposed to do with this?! 

Before he could react, either pushing the boy away or pulling him closer, he wasn’t sure which, he heard a breathless voice whisper in his ear. 

“You came back.”

Arthur shuddered at the desperate, happy tone. And, before he could even think, his arms had risen to grasp the boy back, as tight as he could. 

And he whispered back,

“I never left.”


	6. The Beginning of Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So, next chapter. 
> 
> I will warn you that the beginning of this chapter is basically the end of the last chapter told from Merlin's perspective. Another warning: This is something I noticed that I do a lot. Retell part of a previous chapter in the perspective of the other character. I noticed that I did that a lot around chapter 15-ish, but even after that it was hard to stop, as there were details that I felt I needed to explain from the other side. So, sorry about that. I do go into original material after about a third of a way through the chapter, though. So, yeah. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments. I don't know if it's noticeable, but I've always been very critical of my own work, aha. I'll try and keep that to myself. I'm glad that people are liking this story, though. I'm glad. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Okay. Well. That had been quite… A day. Yes. Certainly… a day. 

While his side hurt like no one’s business, at least he was alive, he mused, hissing as he sunk into the bath his newly reinstated manservant had drawn up for him. 

_Arthur_.

And that had probably been the best part of this horrible day. But he was getting ahead of himself. 

The day had started like any other. If by any other, one meant it started with Merlin waking from a nightmare, heart pounding and mind racing, the dull, dead eyes of his former manservant tormenting him, even as the rest of the dream faded from his mind like water through a sieve. He guessed it made sense, given his revelation from the previous night, that he’d dream of the boy’s death. Part of him was glad he couldn’t recall the rest of the dream. Maybe some things were best left to the darkness of night. 

But he hadn’t had much time to dwell on the thoughts. The servant his father had sent to help him get ready for the day was there, face carefully blank. He didn’t know how his father knew he had fired Arthur, but he didn’t question it. After all. He had a fight to win. 

After a quick breakfast of bacon and eggs, Merlin let the servant dress him in the ceremonial robes, his hands much quicker and more skilled than Arthur’s had ever been. 

Ignoring the pang that the thought had given him, Merlin had just nodded at the man, getting not even a twitch in reply. That’s what he had always hated, he had thought as he had woodenly moved down the stairs, hands twitching. Most servants were blank canvases, their desire to not be hurt clear in their wooden movements. Arthur hadn’t been like that. Arthur had life. He had a spark. It was incredible. 

But he had to stop thinking of his former servant, Merlin had chided mentally as he reached the courtyard. Maybe he loved the boy. Maybe. But the boy was gone. He was likely halfway to his home by then. Dwelling on him wouldn’t help. 

Luckily, he felt guiltily, he didn’t pass his father as he entered the tent where he was supposed to get ready for the match ahead. Inside was another servant, face as blank as the last. Merlin just dismissed the man with a wave of his hand, heart disappointed that it wasn’t the man he secretly longed to see. He didn’t need a servant to get ready. 

Closing his eyes, Merlin meditated as he let his power flow through him, like he always did before a battle. His magic flowed through him readily, humming under his skin like a hummingbird flew through the air. It was invigorating. He let himself get lost in the sensation, a small smile on his lips as the power flowed. 

Long minutes passed before he heard the flap to his tent open, his eyes shooting open as a flash of fear shot through him. Oh, please don’t be his father. 

Luck was on his side again, as he only saw the kind face of his oldest and dearest friend. Beside maybe Gaius.

“Freya. You scared me,” Merlin breathed, rolling his eyes at his fear. Why was he afraid to face his father? He shouldn’t be. A good son wouldn’t be. So why was he?

Maybe because he feared the man’s bitter disappointment. He had disappointed his father far too many times in his young life. Would he ever stop being such a disappointment? He hoped so. But he doubted it, as he remembered his talk with Freya the previous night. No. He’d always disappoint his father. 

Before he could sink further into his depressing thoughts, he felt a finger flick his forehead, making him look up in affront at the smirking girl in front of him. 

“Ow!” He had exclaimed exaggeratedly. It hadn’t hurt, of course. Freya would never hurt him. But still. It was the principle of the matter. 

She giggled softly at that, rolling her eyes at him, puffing out her cheeks like a squirrel as she crossed her eyes, making him laugh at her antics. She had always done that when they were children, making funny faces to make him giggle. She was a good friend. A good sister. 

“Come now, little bird. Why the long face?” 

The moniker that Freya had always called him felt sour now, his mind instantly remembering the previous day, the man he was about to fight calling him the exact same thing. He spared a moment to hate the sorcerer, for tainting one of his favorite nicknames that Freya called him. 

It did sober him, though, his forehead furrowing as he worried his lip. Freya just tsked, grabbing his hand with her slighter one.

“Come now. You have nothing to worry about. You’re more powerful than any person on the continent. The whole world, probably. You have nothing to fear. You will crush him. I believe in you.”

Merlin smiled weakly at the girl as she beamed at him, her faith in him sobering. They were the same age, give or take a few months, but it had always felt like she was so much older than him. Such solemn wisdom she had. He supposed her curse granted her such abilities. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. But I just… I don’t know. I’m not afraid to face him. I’m just…”

“Nervous,” Freya interrupted before he could even begin to think of the right word. He nodded dumbly, biting his lip once more. Freya shook her head, soft smile still on her lips. 

“I understand, little bird. But you will do amazing. Have faith in yourself. You deserve it.”

He didn’t have time to say anything else, heart full as he looked at his pseudo sister, as the gong rung, indicating it was time. 

Heart racing, Merlin pulled away from Freya, eyes wide and panicked. Freya just tsked and hugged him quickly before rushing out, knowing she had to take her place beside his father soon. He wished she could stay. She calmed his nerves like nothing else did. 

Instead he had been forced to pace the too small space as he heard the roar of the crowd, the tenor of his father’s voice a distant sound in his ear. It usually soothed him. Now? Now it just made things worse. Here he was. Alone, panicked, and afraid. 

For he was afraid. He remembered Sorcerer Birkitt, his cold, dead eyes staring blankly ahead. He remembered Arthur’s words, about the thin blade that could kill instantly. Merlin didn’t disbelieve his former servant, as Valiant clearly had something to hide. He just hadn’t been able to prove it.

Well. He’d just have to keep far from Sorcerer Valiant. That was the good thing about magic, Merlin thought blithely as he exited the tent, having heard his cue. One didn’t have to be close to the other to use it. 

As he stood in the blinding sun right outside the tent, heart pounding as he paused in his trek to the arena, he took a deep breath. Before he could lose his nerves, Merlin pasted a fake grin on his face as he entered the wooden arena, arms held high as the audience cheered his entrance. Sorcerer Valiant was already in the arena, a smug smile on his face. 

His throat ran dry at the sight, but he squared himself up, glaring back. He listened with half an ear as his father said some words, something about honor and pride. Whatever. Merlin couldn’t help how his hands twitched at his sides, eyes darting around the arena, looking for someone he knew he wouldn’t find. He caught Gaius’s eye as the man stood off to the side, near the entrance of the tents, pleased to see his beloved mentor smiling at him with pride in his aged eyes. But no one else was with him. Not that he had expected there to be anyone, he chided himself, setting his jaw. 

And then, after that, he didn’t have the luxury of being able to worry about bright blue eyes dull in death, as he fought with everything that he had in him. 

It wasn’t a fight to the death. Or, it shouldn’t have been. Accidents happened, as evidenced by Sorcerer Birkitt. But it wasn’t the desired end of such a tourney. No amount of gold or pride was worth a noble sorcerer’s death. 

Or, Merlin thought angrily, as he stayed as far from Valiant as he could, it shouldn’t be. But not everyone felt the way he did. 

He had been doing well, he felt, as his magic surged through him. Of course, it was easy for him. He was the most powerful warlock in the entire continent. No, world. He could fight Valiant with his eyes closed if he wanted. The dance was easy, well known to him. The minutes passed, Valiant getting no more than a couple brushes on him, while Merlin had hit the other sorcerer several times, a couple almost forcing the other man to surrender with the pain. It was easy, almost laughably so.

And so, he let his guard slip, even as he knew he should keep it up. 

He knew instantly that he had messed up. He had fallen for Valiant’s feint, pushing forward instead of stepping back. 

And it was a mistake that would cost him his life, he realized, eyes wide as he caught the silver of a too thin blade. He could feel his magic mount around him, but he’d been using so much of it that he was getting a bit tired, his magic too sluggish to protect him in enough time to block the blade as it darted forward, determined to hit the base of his sternum.

What happened next, Merlin could never explain. 

All he knew was one second, he was looking into Valiant’s dark eyes, the cruel smile on his lips the last thing he was sure he would ever see, and then-

“MERLIN! STEP BACK!”

He was stepping back, almost against his will. He felt a sharp pain in his side, hissing at the pain, but it wasn’t death that followed. 

What? What? Who… that voice… but, no... it couldn’t be…

Before he could finish his thought, eyes wide and heart pounding as he suddenly realized whose voice that was, Merlin felt himself get pulled back, that cursed knife at his throat, pressed against his Adam’s apple, a loud voice at his ear saying nonsense. Oh, fuck that. 

Pushing his confusion to the side, he felt his magic pulse outward, the warm body at his back pushed backwards as the knife hung in the air, still barely touching his throat. He distantly felt guards rushing around, grabbing his assailant, and rushing over to him, but he only had eyes for the edge of the arena, where he had heard the voice shout from. 

And there. Clear as day, bright as the sun above him. There stood that wonderful man, that brilliant boy who had just saved his life for the second time now. 

He distantly realized he was speaking, babbling nonsense words at the nattering guards, the man saying something about getting his wound checked out. He barely felt the pain if he was being honest. He only had eyes for that brilliant golden boy, so beautiful in the morning sun. He later recalled that he had gestured over to the boy, saying something about Gaius, who had been standing beside his former servant, before he strode away, heart pounding and ears deaf as he walked forward. 

Towards his destiny. 

He distantly noticed that Arthur looked panicked at his approach, but he didn’t care. Freya’s words echoed in his ear, telling him that Arthur would return. That old adage played in his mind too, about loving and letting go. Because if it was true. If it was true that love that had been released and then returned was meant to be…

Well. 

Before he could stop himself, the cautious part of his brain overridden by the love and adoration he felt for the recklessly brave boy before him, he threw caution to the wind and threw his arms around the boy he couldn’t stop thinking about. The man who had saved him twice over now. 

Ignoring the twinge in his side, he had breathed in the scent of his former servant, the sweat and metal and musk, bitter and yet oh so sweet. It shouldn’t be good, he knew. It was the scent of an unwashed peasant. But to him, it was the finest perfume. Because he had never expected to ever smell this scent again. Because he was so deeply in love with the man that the scent was attached to. 

“You came back,” he heard himself breathe, the words breathless and wispy. And oh, so happy. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t be an open book, wouldn’t let his feeling bleed out. But hey, he felt he had earned the right to be happy as he literally bled out. He’d had a trying day. 

And even though his side ached, his heart soared when he felt strong arms wrap around him, holding him as tightly as he held the other, as tight as he had always dreamed of being held, alone at night and wishing his father would hug him properly, even just once. Not the awkward side hug he always gave, if he would give anything at all. But a proper one, full and tight and warm. Like this hug was. 

And then, as he felt the body before him shudder, heart so full he thought it would burst, he felt warm lips brush his ear, causing him to shudder as well. 

“I never left.”

Oh. Oh. Perhaps he had been destined to die that day after all, Merlin thought with wide eyes, arms tightening impossibly farther around the boy in front of him, heart stopped. He was sure he was about to die from the sensation. He felt Arthur squeeze back, making his side scream painfully. And this time, he sadly couldn’t ignore it, though he was sure he’d die a happy man if he never left this warm embrace. 

Gasping harshly, Merlin winced, the pain in his side suddenly white hot and angry. He felt Arthur pull back, Merlin mourning the loss, but soon there were other hands on him, a frantic yet familiar voice yelling at him as he felt himself collapse to the ground, suddenly faint. 

The trip back to Gaius’s room had been a blur to him, eyes blacking out whenever he was jolted too hard. He distantly realized arms were holding him, his body pressed against a deliciously toned chest, but the pain was too much for him to really recognize anything more. 

When he had been carefully deposited onto the bed that Gaius reserved for patients, he heard his former mentor rush around above him, going this way and that as he grabbed various herbs and potions. At one point a truly nasty potion had been forced down his throat, his body seizing as he tried to expel the vile liquid. But before he could hurt himself or pull his wound, he felt a warm, callused hand grab him with such tenderness he would have cried had he been fully conscious. As it was the voice that he remembered the most, though. Soft as silk and sweet as honey in his ear as it hushed him. 

“Shh, hey, it’s alright Merlin. It’s okay. This is going to help you with the pain, I’m sure of it. Just swallow the potion, okay? For me?” 

Well. How could he deny such a lovely voice? And so, despite the vile taste the tincture had, he swallowed, eyes screwed with disgust as it went down. 

However, he realized as his head cleared, and the pain vanished, eyes opening in shock, the potion had worked. 

And, as his eyes met bright, vivid blue, the cerulean eyes creased with worry, he wondered if he hadn’t died after all, and this was heaven. 

He shook the sappy thought out of his head a second later, though, his face flushing against his will. God, he hoped the boy before him didn’t notice. 

Well, if he did, he didn’t say anything, just smiled with relief, eyes softening as he saw the consciousness in Merlin’s eyes. 

“Oh, good. That did work. I was worried. I mean, not for you! No, no, no, no. I mean…” the other boy stammered, eyes widening before he rolled them, shaking his head with a grimace. Merlin had no idea what that was about, but the boy smiled again, weaker this time, so he decided to ignore it. 

“What’s happening?” He asked, voice weaker than he had expected. At the time he had vaguely remembered the walk over and the subsequent treatment, his memories slowly coming back over the span of the day. But he had felt confused at the moment, having forgotten, briefly, that Arthur had returned. Or who, even, Arthur was. 

That realization flooded him when the boy before him flashed him a thin smile, eyes tight with worry. Oh, he thought, breathless. He’s still here. He hadn’t left. 

_He had never left,_ a voice purred at him, as pleased as the cat who got the canary. 

“You’re in Gaius’s room. You were stabbed by Sorcerer Valiant. Like I had said you would be, mind. So glad to know you listen to me, _Mer_ lin. What happened to keeping your distance, huh? It’s like you wanted to die,” the boy grumbled, eyes rolling, and arms crossed. But Merlin didn’t care. He could be as rude as he wanted. He had earned the right. The important thing was _he had stayed_. He had never left. 

Merlin’s heart was full and happy, what he assumed was the sappiest smile lighting his features. He couldn’t will it away even if he tried. He was far too tired and far too happy. Arthur gave him a strange look, mouth snapping shut and jaw tightening as his Adam’s apple bobbed, but before Merlin could say anything, he heard a quiet cough, someone clearing their throat for attention. 

And like that, he abruptly realized they weren’t alone. 

Face beet red, he turned almost guilty eyes onto his old mentor, the man’s eyebrow high as he stared at the two boys, eyes judging. At least he wasn’t the only one embarrassed, he thought meanly, watching Arthur flush attractively. 

“As… charming as your reunion is, I need to run some tests. Arthur, if you’d please,” Gaius said drily, his tone judging even as his eyes sparkled with mirth. Flushing harder, Arthur scampered up, hands Merlin hadn’t realized were still on his chest abruptly gone. He felt slightly bereaved, even as Gaius’s warm and steady hand replaced them, his side being looked at now that the pain had been dealt with. 

It was an hour later that Gaius was satisfied with the progress he had made, wound stitched and salves piled high under the numerous bandages. At one point, Freya had entered the room, eyes teary as she threw herself at him, mindful of the wound. She had silently cursed him, eyes tight with worry as she informed him that she would kill him herself if he ever worried her like that again. He couldn’t help the grin at her words, knowing the kind girl would never dream of hurting him. Arthur had stifled a laugh at that, the boy refusing to leave his side through all of Gaius’s work. 

He felt the meaningful stare Freya gave him as she looked between the two, a knowing grin rising on her face as she recognized his former servant that she had previously looked passed in her haste to get to him. She mouthed “I told you so” at him when Arthur turned towards Gaius, asking him a question about something or other, sticking her tongue out after. He grimaced at her exaggeratedly, teeth bared in an imitation of anger. They both knew he was kidding, though, as his cheeks were bright red and his eyes were shining. 

He was almost legitimately angry with her when she began pestering Arthur with benign questions, though he found he couldn’t be as she asked the questions he had always longed to ask but feared getting too close to ever let the questions loose. She asked about his home village (which, he finally learned, was named Fayford, which was near the northern boundary of Camelot); his mother (Ygraine, Arthur had said with a smile, who was beyond beautiful and was the best chef in all of Albion); his father (who he learned, with a pained look in his former servant’s eye, was gone); and his friends (who he had gone on and on about, telling this story and that about the adventures they’d gone on, especially with a boy named Gwaine, who was apparently his best friend). His heart had ached something fierce, though, when the boy had mentioned a girl named Gwen, eyes impossibly soft and smile almost dopey as he spoke of her.

He knew Freya was dying with curiosity, but kindly didn’t follow that line of questioning, which Merlin appreciated. He didn’t think he could handle hearing Arthur rave about the girl he clearly loved. Just hearing how he said her name… reverent, like it was the most precious thing… Merlin could never dream of hearing the boy say his name like that. Like he meant the world. It killed him inside, and suddenly he wished he could leave, stand up and leave this conversation forever. 

Luckily, it was then that Gaius had given him the all clear, warning him to be careful, instructing him to rub a multitude of salves on the wound every day, once in the morning when he woke and once at night before he went to bed. Before he could grab the salves, a snappy and sarcastic retort on his lips, he saw a toned arm dart out and grab the bottles, a fond voice rumbling over him. 

“I’ll take those, thank you very much. Lord knows _Mer_ lin would only break them, the clumsy oaf. Besides. I’ll need them when he undoubtedly commands me to help change his bandages. After all, what’s a servant for?”

He said the words so casually, a soft smile on his lips. But Merlin could see the tension in his eyes, the tightness as he looked at Merlin, the fear. 

But all Merlin could feel was such a profound relief and joy that he couldn’t believe he wasn’t shining as bright as the sun. He was glad Arthur didn’t have magic, or he surely would have felt the surge in power, his magic straining against his chest, dying to be close to the love of his life. As it was, he regretted that Freya _did_ have magic, her laugh quickly covered up by a cough. But he still felt as her magic nudged his, her gentle amusement tempering his joy. But not entirely. No. Nothing could temper that. 

After that, he had carefully stood, wincing at the dull pain, Gaius’s pain potion having worn off and the prince not in enough pain to suffer through that god-awful taste. Why did something that provided such relief taste so disgusting? 

Still, he couldn’t complain when he felt strong arms wrap around him, pulling him to a sturdy chest as he stood. Freya gave him a playful wink as his face blushed bright red, a undoubtably dopey grin on his face. But he didn’t care. He was too happy and in love to care. 

Still. He had to be careful. Arthur didn’t love him, he reminded himself harshly, as the pair walked carefully to his room. The steps were hard, but they got through it. Together. Freya wandered off at one point, waving a lazy hand in goodbye, with one last wink that made him flush again. Arthur had looked at him strangely at that, which made Merlin paranoid he had learned about his stupid affection, but the man had just shaken his head and chuckled. It had felt heavenly against his side, even as Merlin chided himself for the indulgence. 

He couldn’t keep wearing his heart on his sleeve. It was dangerous. Arthur wasn’t a stupid man. Far from it, Merlin knew. After all, he had been the only one to see the knife that stabbed Sorcerer Birkitt. So, no. He wasn’t a fool. He’d surely find out his secret if he weren’t careful. 

_If he didn’t already know_ , he thought sourly, stomach clenching. 

But, no, he reasoned as they finally reached his room, the now-no-longer-former servant holding it open with his foot as he helped Merlin inside. If the other boy knew, then surely, he wouldn’t be so kind and helpful? Surely, he wouldn’t smile at him so sweetly as he helped Merlin sit on his settee, side aching with the exertion. Surely, he wouldn’t chuckle fondly, shaking his head as he briefly exited the room, returning a moment later and explaining he had called for Merlin’s lunch. 

Surely, he wouldn’t be so content to stay if he knew his dark secret, right? 

Because Merlin knew, with a surety that would have been startling if it weren’t so true, that Arthur would hate him if he ever found out. Arthur, brave, dependable Arthur, who spoke the name of his love with such reverence it made Merlin ache. A love that was most definitely female, he reminded himself harshly, even as Arthur sat beside him with a grunt, taking far more liberties than any other servant ever had. If he wasn’t so far gone for the man, Merlin would have snapped that servants didn’t laze about while there was work to be done. But this man, this brave and wonderful boy, had saved him not once, but twice now. So, he figured he’d earned the right to rest. 

The pair had sat in companionable silence as they waited for the serving staff to bring up Merlin’s lunch. It felt wonderful after the cold silence of that morning, the previous servant silent and cold as he ate the tasteless meal. 

When the lunch was finally brought in, Merlin mourned the loss of Arthur’s warmth beside him, the man standing and grabbing the plate of food with a roll of his eyes, grinning handsomely at the pretty serving girl who brought it. It made his stomach roil to watch, but he pushed that sensation aside. As he had thought earlier, he needed to be careful. 

As the scent of meat hit his nose, he realized with a start that he was famished. With a speed that fairly surprised him, he grabbed the meat, veal he though, and bit into it with relish. He couldn’t help how his eyes fluttered closed and a deep moan was released from his lips. He couldn’t help it. It was so good. He was startled from his revelry when he heard a choked sound, eyes flying open as he saw his once-more servant turn red as he coughed, eyes wide as he choked. 

“Are you alright?!” Merlin cried, half standing even as he pulled at the stitches, causing them to ache, but sat heavily when Arthur waved him off. He watched as Arthur grabbed a goblet ( _his goblet_ , his mind hissed, a pleased warmth filling him at the thought) and drunk down some water. It was a punishable offense, drinking from his master’s (and he shuddered at the word) cup, but he didn’t say a word. After all. He didn’t mind one bit. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Arthur had rasped, eyes watering from the strain. Still, he had managed a small smile at Merlin, strained as it was. “I just, uh. Swallowed weirdly.”

Okay. Sounded strange, but he’d allow it. He gave Arthur one last strange look, before shrugging it off. Not like he didn’t have things he wanted to hide. 

As Merlin began to eat again, this time managing to suppress the shameful moan, the room entered into a slightly awkward silence. Arthur was standing off to the side, looking around awkwardly as he tried to figure out what to do. Heart clenching, wanting so desperately to reach out and take the man’s hand, Merlin cleared his throat, pasting a smile on his lips as those too blue eyes locked onto his, throat suddenly thick with emotion. 

Clearing his throat for real this time, Merlin smiled weakly as he gestured to the other end of the settee, where Arthur had sat earlier. 

“Come on. Sit. There’s no need to stand over me like a pillock. I’m sure all the chores can-can wait,” he stated, calm as he could with his racing heart. Oh, he hoped this got easier. It was near torture, waiting with bated breath as Arthur hesitated, eyes wide with shock. Like he hadn’t expected the kindness, he thought bitterly, hating his former self for causing such doubts in his servant’s mind. If only he hadn’t been the little boy tugging on his crush’s pigtails. 

Finally, slowly, Arthur sat, eyes cautious as he watched Merlin. Sitting there himself was one thing, a stolen liberty that the proud man had probably taken pride in. Accepting the invitation was another. 

Still, as he sat, he slowly relaxed, tense shoulders unwinding as he sat back, sighing at the comfortable seat. Merlin prided himself on his comfortable furniture. After all, why have something that was designed to look nice but feel like shit? Barmy, he felt. 

Heart full and throat thick, Merlin turned back to his food, chewing slowly on the meat. It wasn’t until he heard an unfortunately familiar growl that he looked back at his servant, who had the decency to look ashamed. But it wasn’t him who should feel shame. It’s Merlin, eating all the food while his servant starved. Christ. What an arse he was. 

Grimacing, he placed the piece of meat down, a frown on his face. Arthur looked at him quickly, concern on his face, but Merlin just shook his head, indicating it wasn’t pain that stopped him. He mulled over his words for a moment, trying to find a way to make his request without either offending the boy, or giving himself away. When he couldn’t, he decided to just wing it. What’s the worst that could happen. 

Famous last words…

“Arthur. Look. I uh, wanted to thank you, for, uh, for saving me. Again. Uh. So. Would you. I mean. Would you please…” Ah shit. He’d fucked that up. Grimacing in shame, he shook his head harshly, flushing at Arthur’s bewildered look. Well. In for a penny, in for a pound. Or whatever. 

“What I mean is. I. Please eat. Something. I’m just worried… no, not worried! I mean. I just… I know you’re hungry, and I’m keeping you here, waiting on me, and there’s more than enough food to share, and…” Merlin trailed off as a thunderous look rose on Arthur’s face, eyes flashing with wounded pride. Ah. Shit. He’d fucked up so bad. 

Before he could stammer out an apology, likely just as rude and awful as his request, he watched as Arthur deflated, a sigh released as the boy ran a quick hand through his hair. The offense left his eyes slowly as he shook his head, a chuckle rising from his lips, only slightly bitter. 

“God. You’re bad at this. The ‘being friends’ thing, I mean. Have you ever had a friend before? Because I assure you, you’re very, very bad at it.”

Oh. Oh. _Ow_. 

The words stung in a way the lighthearted tone clearly hadn’t intended on. He had even called them friends, in a roundabout way. But his throat turned thick as tears rose unbidden to his eyes. Oh fucking hell. Not this again. 

Arthur made a noise of concern as he noticed, eyes wide and regretful. But Merlin just waved him off, roughly scrubbing his eyes, relishing in the pain in his side. 

“Don’t, don’t. It’s not your fault. I just. Well.” Merlin cleared his throat, knowing he should explain, but fearing it. After all. How could he explain how his best and only friend had died right in front of him when he had been seventeen, leaving him cold and broken inside, knowing it had been all his fault?

So he didn’t. He just smiled and played it off, shrugging and claiming he’d always been a bit of a loner. Which was true. He was a friendly person, but his father had always tore him away from any male friendship he had managed to make, that stark disapproval clear in his eyes. And little boys didn’t make friends with little girls, not if they weren’t related. Or practically related, he amended, thinking of Freya. 

Will had been the rare exception. The one boy he had befriended who his father hadn’t managed to scare away, since his father had never been allowed to learn about him. 

They’d met when Merlin had been eleven, wandering through the lower city, eyes down on the ground. He couldn’t remember now what had upset him at the time, but it had been bad enough that he hadn’t noticed when he’d almost run into another boy, the boy jumping back at the last second with a laugh on his lips. It had been amazing, Merlin thought, mesmerized. 

And the rest was history. After that day, Merlin had never been apart from Will for longer than a week at a time, the pair meeting secretly in the lower town, grins wide as the pair plotted their mischief. Will didn’t have magic, Merlin knew, but he hadn’t cared. He had never understood his father’s hatred of non-magical people, despite the hours the king had lectured him about how they would have tried to slaughter them if they didn’t do this. 

When Will died…

But no, Merlin thought, eyes staring blankly ahead, stinging. He couldn’t think of that. Not now. Not when he had finally managed to… to make a new _friend_. Somehow. 

And with that, he smiled brightly at Arthur, watching with relief as the worried look faded away, a grin rising on the other boy’s face.

To keep the silence at bay, he chattered lightly for a while, about the weather and about various nobles he knew, food abandoned between them, Merlin’s hunger gone with both the reminder of what he had lost, as well as the knowledge that he’d almost managed to lose this too, as tenuous and fragile as it was. Whatever _this_ was. 

After a few minutes, though, his chatter trailed off, an awkward silence rising in its place. As he struggled to find something, _anything_ to say, he heard Arthur sigh lightly as he shifted closer, a warm thigh brushing his. Merlin did his best to control his face, which he was sure was contorted painfully as he shoved down the rush of heat he had felt shoot straight to his groin. 

“Hey. I wanted to. You know. Apologize. My words were cruel and unwarranted. You were just concerned. You’re not a bad friend, Merlin. You actually seem to be a pretty good one. If you discount the past week and a half where you tormented me for fun, you prat,” Arthur joked, breaking the tension and making Merlin laugh. God. It was times like this that Merlin realized how much the other boy reminded him of Will. It had pained him the first time he realized it, causing him to sneer and act cruel to ignore the pain. But it was true. They were both noble, stupid, recklessly brave boys. Who said insensitive things, yet could apologize so sweetly after, leaving no hint of pain behind. 

Even as his heart clenched, Merlin couldn’t help but smile, nodding his thanks. His throat was too thick to even hope he could speak. 

A moment passed in companionable silence, until Merlin couldn’t take it anymore. And so, though he knew it would only get him yelled at again, he asked the question that was plaguing him. 

In for a penny. 

In for a pound. 

“Why do you always refuse?” He questioned softly, smiling at Arthur’s confused glance. “The food,” he clarified. 

He watched with a heavy heart as Arthur’s face shuttered, bright eyes dulling as he turned away, thigh tense. But it didn’t move, he noticed hopefully, even as the other boy closed off. After a moment, Arthur shrugged, his defensive barrier breaking down a little, eyes sad and distant. 

“I don’t really know,” he muttered, shrugging again. He paused, air thick with tension. Merlin waited a second, before Arthur started up again. “I just… don’t like being indebted to people. My life was kind of shit, back home. Not terrible, I mean. But I had to fight to survive. I’ve managed to get to a good place, where I’ve got friends and people I love who love me, too. But for a while… it was just safer. To push everyone away. I guess. I always prided myself on my freedom. Maybe I was a lowly human, not an ounce of magic in me, but at least I was free. Even if I starved.”

As the boy looked over at him, Merlin watched as his eyes widened, clearly not having meant to say so much. 

“Not that I mind serving you! Well. I had. At first. Hated it. It galled me, serving you. But now… now, I guess I don’t mind too much. As long as you stop sneering at me, I mean. Really, Merlin, it’s kind of pathetic. You look like an angry puppy when you’re mad. Hard to take you seriously.”

And there it was again. Lightening the tension with a joke. Merlin appreciated it, nonetheless. He bumped his shoulder against Arthur’s, intending to pull away but… not doing so. They were now sat so close to one another, their sides practically pressed against one another. Thankfully it was the side that hadn’t been stabbed, so there was no pain. 

“Oh, yeah, laugh it up. You know you have so many chores to do, right? You need to polish my boots, clean my bed, dust my awards,” Merlin listed, laughing when he heard the indignant sound Arthur made. He was joking, honestly, not intending on making his servant do anything he didn’t want to ever again, but it felt good. To joke. To laugh. 

“Oh yeah?” Arthur had pretend-growled, before Merlin felt himself get tackled. Gently, he noticed, his side not even twinging, even as Arthur got him in a headlock, fist rubbing roughly against his head. It made him laugh, even as it hurt lightly.

“Stop, stop! You can’t do that to me, I’m the prince! This is treason!” Merlin claimed, even as he laughed, harder than he’d laughed in what felt like years. God. It was good. Even when his side began to ache, the awkward angle and his flailing limbs tugging at the stitches. But he didn’t care. 

Tears filled his eyes once again, but he hoped he could pretend they were tears of laughter. When Arthur finally pulled away, he either didn’t notice or was kind enough not to mention the shiny quality his eyes had taken. 

It had just been so long since he’d have someone to really laugh with. Oh, sure, he had Freya, but she was practically his sister. She didn’t count. 

He missed Will. He always missed Will, but it hurt more in that moment. 

And yet, as he looked at Arthur, his brilliant blue eyes shining with mirth, it wasn’t as bad as usual. 

He was glad. 

The time passed quickly, after that. Arthur still didn’t take any food, which made Merlin strangely sad, but he did joke around with him, even as he stood and began to do the chores Merlin had listed. Merlin had tried to protest, claiming he’d just been joking, but the withering glance Arthur gave him stilled his tongue.

“I’m a servant, _Mer_ lin. My entire job is to, you know, _serve_. Besides. It’s not so bad, when you’re not humiliating me. It’s almost nice, doing something productive with my hands. And I do need to work to earn my pay. If, you know. I ever do get paid.”

Merlin had mentally added a reminder to talk to the foreman who overlooked the servants, to see that Arthur got paid fairly for his work.

So Merlin just watched as Arthur cleaned, the boy keeping up a steady commentary as he did so, droll humor making Merlin’s sides hurt with his laughter. 

As dinner approached, Merlin began to feel apprehensive. He had finished working on the paperwork for the day, knowing his father wouldn’t excuse his laziness even for a stab wound, but he felt almost scared to go down to his daily dinner with his family. After all. His father hadn’t gone to see him, not once, since he had been stabbed. He knew that the king was a busy man, but…

It hurt. 

He thought he’d long since stopped feeling anything when his father showed his indifference. 

Now, to be fair to his father, he knew the man loved him. Knew it in the proud looks he was given when he actually managed to do something right, for once. In the tender smile he got when he said the right thing in a meeting. In the gentle hand when he was little, grasping his shoulder as they stood side by side, father and son. The only remainders of their beloved wife and mother. 

But it was hard to remember that, when all he seemed to do was shame his father, nothing he did right. He hated how much of a disappointment he was. Hated how cold his father’s eyes could get when he looked at him. Particularly after he was seen with another boy, smiling, playing. It hurt him so badly. He just wanted his father to love him. Just wanted him to care. 

And yet. He hadn’t come. 

Did he even care he had almost died today? That if not for the boy before him, looking at him with mild concern, he’d have been stabbed through the heart, dead before he hit the ground? His left side ached at the thought, the wound seeming to gape open as his heart clenched. 

“Merlin?” Arthur called softly, eyes tender, “are you alright?”

Merlin gave a tight smile, wishing he could stop being so pathetic for a moment. No wonder his father didn’t care for him. He didn’t much care for himself, either. 

But he had to go down to dinner. His father got so offended when he didn’t show up. So he stood, ignoring the pain in his side, and walked down the thousands of stairs to the dining hall. He rejected Arthur’s help, ignoring the flash of hurt on the other boy’s face as he did so. He could walk on his own. He wasn’t invalid. 

Besides, he realized as they grew closer, his feet slowing as they neared. He had to be careful. If his father found out he had befriended Arthur… well. 

So he stopped, just before the turn to the hallway that held the dining room, and turned to Arthur, eyes hard. 

“Arthur. Wait,” he said, mouth turned down in a frown. Arthur gave him a look, eyes confused as he looked around, looking for something that Merlin didn’t know, before his eyes settled on the prince. 

“Uh, okay? What?” Arthur muttered back, after Merlin hadn’t said anything for a long moment. He had just been thinking about how to phrase this. He didn’t want to offend Arthur. Not again. Well. Here went nothing. 

“I just wanted to… to warn you. When we’re in there, we… we can’t be friends. I can’t show that I care for you, at all. Even a little. I’ll have to be cruel, like before. Father, I mean the king… he already suspects that I, you know. Care. I can’t let him know for certain. That I do. Cause I do, you know. Care. But he can’t know. Do you understand?”

Christ he was bad at this. He winced at the inelegant words, jumbled and wrong. Wasn’t a prince supposed to be, he didn’t know… articulate? Well. Clearly, he had missed the memo. 

But to his relief, Arthur didn’t seem offended. He frowned, eyes full of an indescribable emotion, but he eventually nodded, slowly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it. I kind of figured, if I’m being honest. I know that princes and servants can’t be friends. I kind of hadn’t expected you to even agree when I called you a friend, almost expected you to yell and kick me out. So I, you know. Get it. No need to get your panties in a bunch. You’re such a girl, _Mer_ lin.”

Well. Maybe it wasn’t reverent, like he said Gwen’s name. But he could get used to how Arthur said his name, stressing the first syllable, like he was teasing him with his name alone. It meant something, to him.

With a soft smile, eyes pleading that the boy forgive him for whatever he did or said in the dining room (Arthur’s eyes promising that he would , soft smile on his lips in return), Merlin began to walk again, head held high, ignoring the pain in his side. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

Dinner had been awful. Godawful. The worst. So bad that Merlin would later wince when he thought of it, while he bathed languidly in the tub. But as he lived it, it was even worse. 

To be fair, it wasn’t that his father was angry with him. No. It was that his father didn’t even seem to care at all. 

God it stung. His father had barely looked at him before his eyes settled on Arthur, age old anger rising in those brown eyes of his. Merlin had quickly scowled at his servant, pushing him when he lingered in the doorway. 

“Move! Can’t you see I’m trying to walk here?!” 

Arthur gave him an affronted look, but Merlin couldn’t afford to spare him even a soft look in apology. His father knew him so well. He’d see right through him if he did. 

Luckily, it seemed Arthur got the memo, as he bowed his head, scowl soft on his lips. Enough that anyone could see his displeasure, but not too much that the king got offended. Merlin had almost been afraid that Arthur was actually angry, but the boy looked up at him with a smirk once his father looked away, the man’s eyes on Freya as she, mercifully, grabbed the king’s attention. 

Relieved that his new friend wasn’t mad at him, he sauntered at quick as he dared over to his seat, ignoring the ache. Freya looked at him with concern, her serving girl pouring her some mulled wine, but Merlin just shrugged. He’d tell her everything later. He kept his eyes trained on his father even as Arthur moved from his side, the boy grabbing a pitcher of wine and serving him some, like Freya’s handmaiden did. Merlin waved him away with a careless hand when he had enough of the wine, not sparing him a glance. 

It seemed to work, as when his father finally looked at him, he no longer looked angry. Nor did he look particularly warm, but Merlin was used to that. He could work with that. 

“So. You managed to defeat Valiant today. Good job, he was a formidable foe. You seemed to have been right about his treachery, though,” was all his father said on the matter, dismissing the stab wound like it was nothing. Like it couldn’t have killed him. 

Choking down his indignation, he had just smiled at his father, thanking him for the praise. The king didn’t ask about his wound. Didn’t ask if he was alright. He didn’t even ask about Arthur, though he knew he wondered, eyes watching the serving boy every so often. Maybe he was waiting until they were alone? 

Or maybe not, Merlin thought, dejected. He tried not to show it, but it hurt that his father didn’t even care. He only ever cared when Merlin was happy, and then it was to take that happiness away.

What had he done to earn his father’s hatred? 

Whatever. It didn’t matter. He had a _friend_ now. And he wouldn’t let his father scare him away. 

So he said rude things to Arthur. Little snide comments, like his father would give to his serving boys. Sneers and jeers and vitriol. Not constant, no. That would be suspicious in its own right. But enough. Enough that the tension in his father’s shoulders lessened, a rare smile even gracing his lips as Merlin recalled a particularly challenging move he had done in the tourney. 

Eventually the meal ended, Merlin excusing himself when Freya did. He hated being the first one to leave the table but wasn’t afraid to follow immediately after his father’s ward. As his father waved a careless hand to dismiss him, he carefully exited the room, kissing Freya on the cheek as she headed down to the library to read before taking her potion. 

It wasn’t until he was safe in his room that he allowed himself to break, gasping in pain as he held his side. He wasn’t sure what hurt more; his side, or his heart? 

But that was melodramatic, he chided himself. So he sucked it up, shaking his head harshly. 

He startled badly when he felt the gentle hand on his arm, almost forgetting Arthur in his misery. 

“Are you okay, Merlin?”

He didn’t say his name like he usually did, Merlin noticed, trying not to let it hurt. He just smiled weakly and squared his shoulders, ignoring the pain. Maybe if he pretended hard enough, he’d succeed. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I sure could use a bath, though,” he stated absently, smiling softly when Arthur nodded solemnly, like he had said something of grave importance. 

“Of course. I’ll get right on that, your highness.”

The way he said the word made Merlin snicker. It had been almost funny, hearing the insolent boy call him by his various monikers throughout the dinner, in varying degrees of repressed rage. He was a good actor, Merlin mused, as Arthur exited the room to ask another servant to fetch him a bath. Even he had been fooled a couple of times. 

Merlin almost moaned in pleasure again when the bath was wheeled in, water pleasantly warm and full of sweet-smelling oils. He was a little embarrassed at needing Arthur’s help to undress, but he found he couldn’t bend over without pain, meaning he couldn’t drop trou without assistance. It was embarrassing, especially when Arthur blushed bright red, looking anywhere but his naked body. He’d also needed help unwrapping the bandages, hissing as the dried blood was peeled off, revealing a small but painful wound. 

But now. Here he was. Body half submerged in glorious warmth, the scent of lilac and lavender surrounding him. Ah. It was heaven. 

So the day had gone… poorly, to say the least. At least he was alive. 

And at least he had Arthur. 

_His friend._

That thought still made him giddy, as he gingerly grabbed the soap and scrubbed his body clean of the grime of the day. He couldn’t reach all parts of him, but that was okay. The warm water helped enough. 

He was glad that the serving boy actually wanted to be his friend. It baffled him to no end, but he couldn’t say he was upset. It was nice. Arthur was nice. Being friends was nice. 

And if he, maybe, possibly, longed for more? Longed for Arthur to come over, eyes deep with lust, hungrily raking over his body with a devilish smirk? Well. That was his own foolishness. Friendship was good enough. _More_ than good enough. Far more than he ever deserved, after his awful behavior the past couple weeks. He was lucky Arthur was a good and just man, willing to forgive his cruel ways so easily. 

It was funny, he mused, leaning back in the tub. Arthur and his pride didn’t seem the type to forgive so easily. He’d have thought he’d need to grovel and beg, something his own pride, lesser as it was but still present, wouldn’t have allowed. Oh well. Maybe he had misjudged the other boy. Maybe he was willing to concede sometimes. 

And as Merlin began to drift off, the warm water lulling him into a probably unwise rest, he was so glad Arthur was. Willing to forgive. It made his chest warm and happy to know that he had a new friend. 

And if he thought of Will as he drifted off, the boy’s dead eyes haunting him, well. 

That was his burden to bear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of Arthur's town, as well as a lot of the future fictional town names, and some warlock names, came from this [Fantasy name generator ](https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/) that I found online. Just look up "Fantasy name generator" and you'll find it. Or, if you're on AO3, click the link. :-)


	7. Homeward Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So, there's a time skip at the beginning of this chapter! The Valiant story line has ended, and the next one (probably my favorite) has begun! We finally get to meet Gwen in this chapter! And the rest will come soon enough. So, as a warning, we will be seeing the "Merlin/Gwaine" thing soon enough, just letting y'all know. We still have quite a few chapters to go before that, but it is coming ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Anyway! Most of this chapter is dedicated to talking about what has happened between the last chapter and this one. I wanted to skip all that, so that this story didn't end up, like... War and Peace length, but it is a bit awkward trying to fit months worth of story and several episodes worth of material into about 5,000 words. Just a warning. 
> 
> Also, thanks for the comments! They really do help, I promise. I really appreciate them.
> 
> Enjoy!!

After the flurry of events that took place within the span of two weeks, Arthur was shocked to realize that the following three months passed by with almost no consequence. 

It was funny, he thought, how much of a routine he and Merlin had fallen into. 

Arthur would first wake right before the rise of the sun like always, then eat a quick breakfast that Gaius made. He would then hurry out the door and meet up with Merlin, who was usually awake, but very sleepy and rumpled. It was the time of day the boy was least guarded, his eyes shining with the emotions that Arthur knew to be there but knew the prince would deny to his dying breath. 

After the prince fully woke, Arthur would present the breakfast he would grab on his way up the stairs, smiling kindly at the older cook who was always so grouchy, but would spare him a smile sometimes. She’d even occasionally sneak him a crescent roll, which he took with a mischievous wink and ate greedily. He didn’t mind eating her food, as he felt he had earned it, worming his way into her hardened heart like a disease. Plus, it truly was astonishing how good it tasted. The Royal Family didn’t know how good they had it. 

(Of course, his mother was even better than the Cook, in his humble opinion. But no one held a candle to Ygraine Pendragon née De Bois, so he didn’t hold it against the cantankerous old Cook.)

Then there was the quick breakfast, where Merlin would tempt him with the jellied breads, or sweet meats, or rich bacon, but Arthur always refused, like clockwork, though he was kind in his refusal. He honestly didn’t know why he kept denying the boy, especially as Merlin grew more and more desperate as the days passed. Arthur knew that _Mer_ lin knew he was now eating Gaius’s food, especially now that he was actually getting paid and could help pay for the food they ate, so it wasn’t exactly like he was starving anymore. He’d even put on a couple stones, his belly not exactly extending, but certainly not as concave as it had been when he had arrived. 

Yet still the man offered, eyes sad when Arthur politely refuted him. 

It hurt him somewhere hidden inside, but he couldn’t seem to help it. It was almost like a game at that point; a competition. And Arthur never lost. Never. 

Sometimes Lady Freya would join them in breaking Merlin’s fast, the two laughing and joking like children, including him whenever they could. He was grateful. He felt like he belonged during those moments, lips hurting from how wide he would smile. He liked those days the best. 

Following breakfast was training, for Merlin, and chores, for Arthur. He knew that Merlin felt bad for ordering him around, but honestly. He was a servant! That was, quite literally, his job description. He couldn’t believe that he had to practically force the prince to give him more work, but there they were. Arthur swore he didn’t understand the prince. If _he_ had a manservant, who was required by law to do whatever he wanted, he’d at least take advantage of the opportunity, friend or not. But no. Merlin was so kind and merciful that he hated ordering him around, looking like a kicked puppy when Arthur tried to remind him of their respective places. Why was he made to look the bad guy for his own servitude?! 

But, the prince wouldn’t be Merlin if he wasn’t stupidly noble. And maybe the prince felt bad, after his treatment of Arthur for those first couple weeks and the way he’d sacked him so cruelly. So, whatever. Maybe, in the privacy of his own room, late at night, he could admit that he admired Merlin for his values. It just didn’t help out his intense boredom as he awaited Merlin to finish his sorcery practice, the boy always bright and languid when he returned, his magic lazy and satiated as it swirled around him. 

Arthur found that the strangest part of it all. How, even though he hadn’t an ounce of magic, he could always feel Merlin’s. Maybe it was the pendant he never removed. Or maybe it was the bond between them, a bond that Arthur had finally made peace with and accepted readily. Happily, even. There were worse people to share a destiny with, Arthur figured. 

Like the king, he thought with a sneer, good mood souring at the thought of the vile man. 

Okay. Maybe he was being harsh. The king had some good qualities. He assumed. Gaius seemed to think so, telling Arthur of the brave and kind man he had been before he had taken the throne from the former king, who was too old to keep ruling regardless and had left no living heirs to survive him. But what a man was like in youth and what a man grew into were two very different things. And the man he saw when he looked at the king? Was not a good man. 

Doubly so for how he treated his son. 

Arthur had never known his father, but he liked to think his dad would have loved him at least a little more than how much Balinor seemed to love his son. Maybe Arthur just couldn’t see the nuances of the king’s behavior like Gaius always said, but he didn’t care. He was hurting Merlin, badly. And for that, alone, he hated him. Not to mention the killing and subjugation of his people. That didn’t help his case much either. 

If there was one good thing about their daily routine, it was that they didn’t see much of the sorcerer king. Or Dragonlord king. Arthur didn’t know the difference, but Gaius assured him it was a great one. 

Once magic practice finished, the pair would share a lunch, Merlin eating the food the Cook prepared for him while he himself ate the lunch he had prepared himself the night before. He might not be a great chef like his mother, but he was good enough to make himself a pretty decent sandwich, if he did say so himself. 

He could still remember the look of glee on Merlin’s face when he first saw him eat his homemade sandwich, his side still healing from the stab wound as he lit up like a child at Yule. The joy had died down somewhat when the boy realized that it was only Merlin’s food he rejected, but the smile still lingered even as he stuffed his face. Arthur would push the gnawing guilt aside, not wanting to examine why he felt guilty for denying food from the man. Any leftover food went to the youngest of the serving staff, their eyes happy and grateful as they got the decedent food. He had never told Merlin that was what he did with the leftovers, but he had a feeling the boy knew. The boy would always smile at him dopily, like he could see deep inside him and found him pleasing. 

It was… nice. 

Arthur, against his will, kept on the lookout for the feelings he knew existed in the prince, yet he found that Merlin was hiding them under lock and key. Arthur was frankly surprised at how well he achieved it, as much of a bleeding heart as he was. There were days he was almost positive his initial assessment was wrong, that all Merlin felt for him, truly, was friendship. 

But then Merlin would go to bed and when he woke, his eyes and smile would betray him all over again. 

(Arthur would never admit it, but early mornings were his favorite time of day.) 

It was for the best, he figured. It relieved him that he didn’t have to keep kindly turning the prince down in that, like he did with his food. He didn’t want to hurt the prince, after all. 

It wasn’t like he could ever reciprocate the feelings. He wasn’t _like that_ , after all.

So, it was better this way, he would think, as he returned from the kitchens to find Merlin writing on some piece of paper or another, doing the meaningless paperwork his father assigned him. Well. Arthur doubted it was completely meaningless. But he knew that Merlin certainly hated it well enough. So, he hated it, too, on that principle alone. He had long since stopped wondering why he would hate things just because Merlin did, always chalking it up to their bond. Or whatever. 

From there they would spend the rest of the afternoon wiling away the hours, Merlin doing his princely duties, Arthur going his servantly duties. The duties would vary day by day, but mostly it was nothing too major. Meeting with peasants who made it through the petition process, dealing with the lower town, Merlin working on some more paperwork. It was a quiet routine, but a solid one. They would even sometimes chatter, when in Merlin’s rooms alone, Merlin exclaiming how stupid a request he had been given was, looking at Arthur incredulously, obviously expecting him to agree. More often than not he had no idea what the prince was saying, but he almost always agreed.

Almost always. There had been one time when the boy had complained about how a non-magic person had written, complaining about the sorcerer next door making too much noise at odd hours of the day, claiming that it was disrupting their work. Merlin had felt it a silly request, one best handled by the guards in the town, not him. But Arthur had disagreed, knowing all too well how the guards in Mixed towns or villages would always, infallibly, side with the sorcerer or sorceress, never the non-magical person. While his village wasn’t Mixed, the one his mother worked in was. And he knew the anger and indignation of the guards siding with the warlocks, even if they were blatantly in the wrong. 

Merlin had just frowned at him at that, before nodding and claiming he’d never thought of it that way. He then went back to his work, scribbling a hurried response in his chicken scratch. And later, when he heard the rumors spread through the serving class that the prince had actually publicly sided with one of them for once, well. He had never been prouder of his friend. 

Sometimes in the afternoon, though, Merlin had the meetings with his father and the court to attend. The less said about those days, the better. Merlin always returned with downcast eyes, a miserable frown on his face as he shuffled around the room like a lost puppy. It, quite honestly, broke Arthur’s heart, and in those moments, he was glad he was destined to overthrow the sorcerer king. Fathers were supposed to love their sons. Not… whatever it was Balinor felt towards Merlin. It would take Arthur long minutes afterwards to get Merlin to even smile weakly, but he never gave up. He was anything but a quitter. And when he finally a managed to make the boy laugh, the tension melting off him as he gave Arthur a bemused but happy grin? Well. It was all in a day’s work. 

After the tentative peace of the afternoon, though, was the torture of the night. Well, some nights.

Every other evening as the sun set, bell tolling loudly in the air, signifying the end of day, Merlin would woodenly stand, eyes shuttering as he stifled his kindness and marched to the dining room, where his father and sister sat. (He now called Freya Merlin’s sister, as it was easier than trying to remember the convoluted story Merlin told him about how she had become Balinor’s ward. It didn’t really matter, anyway. They definitely acted like siblings, though even at their worst they were far warmer than he and Morgana had ever been, at their best). 

Freya would always spare both of them a bright smile, though she was wise enough to keep her smile on him for only a fraction of a second, lest the king see and wonder why the two were so friendly when Merlin clearly couldn’t stand his presence. 

Because that’s the pretense they had to follow when in Balinor’s presence. The lie that Merlin hated him and thought him only a non-magical pissant serving boy who meant nothing to him. 

Arthur didn’t fully understand the reason why Merlin was so afraid of his father finding out he didn’t completely hate his manservant, but whatever. He didn’t pry. He just played his part as well as he could, which was very well, thanks ever so. 

So well that some nights Merlin would apologize profusely when they finally were dismissed and were alone in their room (Merlin’s room, he reminded himself), thin yet powerful arms wrapping around him so tight Arthur thought he would die with the pressure. But it was so good. And after the first week after the battle with Valiant, when the wound had healed completely save a scar thanks to healing magic, Arthur wasn’t afraid to squeeze as tight as he could, the prince seeming to not mind the considerable strength. 

It was glorious. 

He’d never known what it was like to hug someone with all his strength before. And hugging Merlin? It felt oh so right. Like coming home. 

Of course, he’d never tell _Mer_ lin this. He would always brush off the hug after, a dismissive comment used to distract from his ruddy cheeks, the slight smile on his lips that he couldn’t push away. But Merlin didn’t mention it. He just smiled that dopey smile of his and went on his way. 

And while he hated the moments that Merlin reverted back to the prat he had first met and served those first couple weeks, he almost thought it worth it for the action that sometimes followed. Besides, it was just an act. Even if Merlin was sometimes so convincing that he almost needed the hug to remind himself it was actually a lie. He had to hand it to the bleeding heart; he was a damn good liar when he wanted to be. No one expected it, so he got away with it 90% of the time. He could even lie to Arthur himself and he’d not really know what the truth was or not. It was impressive, as Arthur prided himself on his ability to see through bullshit. 

The dinner the pair shared on the days Balinor didn’t require Merlin’s presence were so much nicer. So much more… real. Merlin would always be a bit sleepy, sometimes downright exhausted depending on what was done that day. He’d get a bit silly, saying the most ridiculous things that Arthur had to physically stop himself from bursting out laughing and giving the boy satisfaction. Arthur would usually just roll his eyes, maybe smirk slyly, but Merlin never seemed to mind. He would just look… well. Happy, he supposed.

Following dinner there were Merlin’s baths, which he took every other day, right after dinner with his father. 

Yet another thing Arthur would never tell, but he secretly looked forward to those baths. Merlin would just look so… so… peaceful, he guessed the word was. The boy’s usually tense shoulders would relax, and he’d get a small, pleased smile on his lips. The water was always too murky for Arthur to see anything unsavory (ha, he thought bitterly. Unsavory. Like he hadn’t been surreptitiously sneaking glances during the few days he had had to fully undress his friend, the boy unable to do it himself without tearing his stitch. Something he almost missed now that Merlin was most definitely fully healed. He had learned that Merlin had a smattering of scars littering his body that he was self-conscious of, as well as some dark curly chest hair that trailed off under his under things, leading to a fairly impressive co-)

Ahem. 

As he was saying, Merlin would take his bath every other day, sometimes falling asleep in the bath, forcing Arthur to wake him, heart pounding for unknown reasons when he had to put his hands on Merlin’s warm, wet chest, shaking him awake since the foolish boy was such a deep sleeper that it was nigh impossible to rouse him when he truly slept. It was a good thing the prince was usually at least half awake when Arthur walked in in the morning, or else things would have gotten far more awkward. For them both. 

But Merlin would eventually wake, face flushed as he darted his eyes away, shifting his body to hide something under the water. Arthur tried his hardest not to think about what that was. Arthur never asked about the dreams the boy would have either. Some things were better left unspoken, especially when the thing unspoken was the fact that he could have sworn he heard his best (?) friend moan his name in his sleep on a handful of occasions. It was better to not know. 

Once the bath finally concluded, Merlin would get dressed, without his help after the first week, and then would settle in bed while Arthur puttered around, making the room spotless for the following morning. Something his tired brain hated at night but thanked him for in the morning. 

And if he sometimes watched Merlin while he slept, eyes tracing the curve of his nose, the sunken hollows of his cheeks, the flutter of his eyelashes as his eyes darted behind the lids, the boy clearly dreaming, well. So sue him. 

And if, sometimes, when he cleaned the sheets the following morning, he smelled the salty, bitter tang of spunk, the scent heady and cloying in the room, well. It wasn’t his place to question the prince. 

(Why he would sometimes breathe long and deep as he did it, he didn’t know. It was disgusting, the scent revolting, but… well. Well.) 

Then, once the prince was sleeping soundly and there was no fear of the boy waking and heeding him immediately, he’d return to Gaius’s quarters and help the man with some of his potions. He’d do this for maybe half an hour to an hour, depending on how much help Gaius needed, but he kind of enjoyed the work, even if he was dead tired some nights.

From there, he’d retreat to his room, where he would take his father’s sword from where he hid it under the floorboards and would practice his steps for as long as he could hold the sword without pain or exhaustion. And sometimes he’d go passed that line, wanting to get his restless energy out as fast as possible, without taking himself in hand, so that he didn’t have to think of those damned blue slash gold eyes as he rose to completion, sound muffled in his shoulder as he shuddered painfully, ignoring the fact that he rarely thought of anyone else anymore during his, ahem, _nighttime activities_. 

Then he’d go to sleep, trying hard to forget the deep blue eyes and smiling face he always seemed to dream about those days.

And that mostly made up the last three months of their days together, with only a handful of unique situations. Any free time he had was taken up by Gaius, the older man requesting Arthur help him deliver potions, or else gather herbs for his salves. Sometimes, rarely, Merlin would go with him, claiming he liked the feel of wandering through the woods looking for specific herbs. He never joined him on his deliveries, but Arthur didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t have wanted to be around the blasted nobles he delivered to either, if he could help it. 

It had been a good routine, Arthur thought, musing. The only times that really stood out had been the time the only semi-magical king Bayard had been invited to the kingdom for a peace treaty and nearly got accused of trying to murder Merlin when Arthur had been told Bayard had poisoned Merlin’s cup by a serving girl. It turned out the serving girl had poisoned it before escaping into the night, but still. 

_That_ had been a fun time. Arthur, righteous with anger, had taken the cup and had drunk from it when the king had commanded it, dropping into a near death as it was, indeed, poisoned.

That should likely have been more noteworthy of a time, but he himself barely remembered it, and had only been told afterward that Merlin had secretly gone on a quest to a cave where the flower that contained the antidote resided, finding the flower in less than two days’ time, returning before Arthur even had developed the rash that signified near death. 

The worry on Merlin’s face when he had returned had been breathtaking, though. The prince had been nearly breathless with worry, eyes tight and sad, though he had lit up when Arthur’s eyes opened and found his, his own lips smiling without his command. For one heart stopping moment, Arthur had been sure Merlin had intended on kissing him, be damned that both Freya and Gaius had been in the room at the time. The way he had been looking at him… eyes full of relief and hunger and _want, want, want_ …

Well. It had done something to his insides. 

(And maybe, just maybe, if Merlin had decided to kiss him?)

(He maybe. Just maybe. Possibly. In that moment? Would have kissed him back with all the passion he could muster. But he chalked that up to his delirium.)

Arthur was sure that had been a much more noteworthy time than he was making it out to be in his musings, but he didn’t want it to be. Why should it matter that the prince had gone out, willingly risked his much more precious life to save that of a serving boy, no matter that they were friends? What did it matter that he had done so directly against what his father would have wanted, had he even bothered to inform his father of his plan, all because he couldn’t bear the thought of _Arthur_ dying? What did it matter that for days after, Merlin would just… look at him, for minutes at a time, an unreadable but heart clenching expression on his face? 

It didn’t. At all. Nope. 

So, he breezed by it in his recollections, even as his heart stuttered to think on it. Even though he couldn’t get the experience out of his mind. It meant nothing, really. 

The only other times of note had been when a griffin had appeared near Camelot, and then when an exiled fairy had tried (and failed, miserably) to lure Merlin to his death. 

The former was only noteworthy in that Merlin had brought him along on his quest to kill the beast and Arthur had been able to watch as his prince fought the creature singlehandedly and killed it in no time flat. And when Arthur had done a fish impression and had only been able to open and close his mouth, no sound escaping, Merlin had merely looked confused and said he fought griffins all the time, what was the big deal?

Oh yeah. _What was the big deal,_ the boy asked, eyebrows furrowed and pink lips adorably pouting, though he had a feeling Merlin would be annoyed at him calling it a pout. Like killing a creature four time his size without breaking a sweat was _easy_. Like it hadn’t meant a single thing that he taken mere minutes to kill a beast so fearsome even Arthur had paused when he first saw it. Like the fact he had taken not even _three minutes_ to kill the thing, most of that time spent getting the right angle before he enchanted the lance and had driven into the heart of the beast with magic alone, wasn’t incredibly impressive. 

Arthur ignored the pang of heat that filled him at the memory, Merlin looking breathtaking as he stood, victorious, over the dead creature. The prince had then looked over to him, eyes beseeching, and Arthur couldn’t help the way he had drifted towards the boy and clasped him tightly into his arms, holding on as tightly as he dared, even though neither of them had ever been in any danger. He had just been unable to help it, his heart impossibly full and aching and he had needed to do _something_ to release the ache. He’d then stepped back and hadn’t mentioned the hug at all, even going so far as to deny it when Merlin tried to tease him about it, later.

The last abnormality in their routine was almost funny in retrospect. King Balinor had welcomed these two strangers into his court, after Merlin had rescued them in the forest from bandits. They had spun some story about being Nobles driven from their home, showcasing their considerable magic for the court to see. Balinor had looked sympathetic and had agreed to let them stay. Ha. Balinor, sympathetic. It had been an odd look on the man, though Merlin hadn’t looked concerned, so maybe it was a common occurrence. _If_ the other party had even an ounce of magic, that was. 

But that was where the pairs plan fell apart. It was almost laughable, how the beautiful Sophia had failed to gain Merlin’s favor at all. Arthur had been later told that the fairy, or _Sidhe_ as Gaius called them, had tried to seduce Merlin so that she could place him under an enchantment and drown him, so she could regain her fairy powers. Or something. He mentioned it was something about fairy magic needing an initial spark of interest to latch onto before a true enchantment took hold. 

It was hilarious how frantic Merlin had looked as the beautiful young girl had chased him desperately, trying to woo the prince, but being denied at every turn. 

At one point, Merlin had looked so terrified at the girl’s advances that Arthur had nearly burst out laughing, Merlin looking more afraid of facing a supposedly twenty-something year old girl than he had facing a bloody griffin. If Arthur had been in his shoes, he would have drowned. As it was, he had nearly fallen arse over tit for the girl, and she wasn’t even trying to woo him. 

(The only thing stopping him from enjoying the whole experience more was the remembered feeling of the bitter pang in his heart when he saw the two together, mind conjuring thoughts of them alone, in private. The things Merlin could do to a young, beautiful girl, if he so desired. But those thoughts were better left alone. And so, he did.)

Why had Merlin not felt any attraction towards the woman, Arthur had mused, when he had heard Gaius explain the events. The older man had explained how the fairy had finally gotten fed up and had tried to enchant Merlin without any spark of attraction and had promptly been destroyed along with her father for her insolence, the enchantment not taking hold as no attraction was there, at all. Even a smidge. She was a beautiful girl. Surely, he was at least a little interested? 

But no. All the enchantment needed was a little spark of attraction. 

Merlin had truly felt nothing. 

(But was that such a surprise, Arthur had questioned, eyes wide on the ceiling, unable to sleep for the third night in a row after the events had taken place. After all. He distinctly remembered how Merlin had clung to him after he had killed Sophia and her father, arms desperate as he grasped him tightly, the hug now a common enough event that he wasn’t even surprised by it. He remembered the warm breath fanning his neck as Merlin had exhaled, body shuddering, clearly distressed at having taken lives, no matter that they had aimed to take his own. Poor, sweet Merlin, eyes sad, wondering if maybe he couldn’t have helped them more, eyes shining as they looked at Arthur, beseeching him for answers, like he thought that Arthur knew the answer to everything. Eyes looking at him with the emotions he never could have possibly given to Sophia. After all. His heart already belonged to someone else.) 

(Arthur resolutely ignored the way his heart crowed at the thought, swelling with emotion he refused to acknowledge he felt when that- that… emotion in Merlin’s eyes washed over him. It was too dangerous. Far too dangerous.)

But other than those three events, things had been almost peaceful. Good. Nice. Perfect, even. 

Of course, it all had to go to shit. 

The day had started the same as any other had. Arthur woke with the sun, groaning as his back ached. It was his fault it hurt, but he meanly blamed Merlin. After all, he had hurt his back chasing the prince around his room, wrestling the wriggling boy down as the two roughhoused. That, combined with him mucking out the stables earlier that day (done only because Merlin had told him to, jokingly, and Arthur never turned down a challenge), not to mention all the things he lifted around the castle and his nightly sword practice, had made his back ache almost as much as it did back on the farm. It was a good ache, he found, but still painful. 

He carefully didn’t think about the wrestling match he had enforced the prince into the other night as he entered Gaius’s main quarters, the man puttering about already, knowing doing so would only shame him deeply. After all, why, on earth, did he think wrestling with _Mer_ lin, girly, prissy _Mer_ lin was a good idea? The boy had almost no muscle on his thin, wiry frame, more use to using magic and not might to fight his battles. It had been too easy for Arthur to pin him down, against the wall, and grin a pleased smile at the wriggling boy, who tried in vain to buck Arthur off. And he knew. Knew that Merlin could have done it with barely a thought had he wanted, could have had him slammed against the wall, because who needed muscle when they had magic? 

But the prince hadn’t. He had just laughed, even as he pretended to yell and struggle, eyes alight with happiness and life. And if, for one second, Arthur had just stood there, breathless with something other than exertion, eyes wide as he looked at the thin neck before him, free of the cursed neckerchief he hated with a passion, looking so damn bitable that he almost gave in and took, and took, and _took_ -

Well.

Fuck, he thought, scrubbing a hand through his hair roughly, relishing in the twinge of pain. He wasn’t supposed to _think_ about that. It was a moment of weakness. A flight of fancy. A moment when Arthur had missed home too greatly, missed the roughhousing he had always done with the boys his age, missed the wrestling and competition. And no, he had never had such confused feelings for the boys back in his village, had never had to forcibly stop himself from reaching out and _taking_ , but…

Fuck. 

He had to stop thinking about this. 

As he took a seat at the table, smiling weakly at Gaius as the older man gave him The Dreaded Eyebrow, he pushed all thought out. It wouldn’t help him. He had bigger things to worry about. 

Like the destiny that still hung over his head. He’d not heard much about that in a while, at least. He had found himself curiously wandering down into that cave, asking advice and help, before leaving with flushed cheeks and confused feelings, vowing to never return but always doing so anyway. Besides. He thought that maybe the dragon enjoyed his company, though he complained like no one else. After all. He had been trapped in a cave by himself for 20 years. Maybe he was lonely?

Ha. Lonely. Arthur snorted into his porridge, making Gaius give him an odd look. Well, whatever. It was a funny thought. Clearly, Arthur was the one going mad here. 

To his luck, Gaius didn’t mention anything. He just spoke about the illness he was taking care of, non-magical in nature so his natural remedies were getting a lot more use. That meant he would have to go out and collect more herbs, Arthur knew. But that was okay. He found the process soothing, his mind settling as he picked the right plants. 

It was after their breakfast had ended that things turned from ‘normal’ to ‘well, adult life was already so goddamn weird, so why wouldn’t this happen?’

Arthur had been at the water barrel again, rinsing out the bowls they had used, when the door to the quarters opened. That hadn’t been unusual. People came and went from the room all day long, even into the night sometimes. After all, illness didn’t exactly keep a daily schedule. And Gaius was the best healer in generations, second only to his late wife.

“Ah, hello. I’ll be with you in a second, I’m just finishing up here,” he heard Gaius say, which was also normal. It was the reply that caused his heart to stop, eyes widening as the words rang out.

“Oh, no! I’m sorry. I don’t need help. Well, I do. I mean. I was told this is where I would find Arthur? Arthur Pendragon? It’s just, I kind of need to speak to him, and-“

As the familiar rambling washed over him, he got over his shock and spun around, grin wide on his face as he strode forward, causing the rambling girl to stop and stare at him in shock. 

But oh. How wonderful it was to see this girl. 

“Gwen,” he breathed, putting his arms around her as soon as he reached her, holding tight, but not as tight as he held Merlin. After a moment of shock, he felt gentle arms wrap around him, holding him as tight as she could.

“Arthur,” she murmured in return, her cheek pressed against his chest, eyes closing as the pair just stood there, Arthur fully happy for the first time in… a while. Don’t get him wrong, life at Camelot was surprisingly not bad. But it didn’t stop how he ached for home, for the forests and the lake, the mountains, and the fields. Even that cantankerous old cow that farmer Joseph had, even though she always tried to gut him when he entered her pen to milk her. He hadn’t even realized how much he ached for it until he had his arms around Gwen, the girl smelling so much like home he almost wanted to cry. 

Maybe if he were as much a girl as Merlin was, he would have. But he prided himself on not being girly, thanks. So, he reined the emotion in and just held the girl for dear life.

Long minutes passed but Arthur didn’t intend on letting go any time soon. Even as the time he usually went to go wake Merlin up grew closer and closer, he couldn’t seem to force himself to let go. It was like if he did, he’d wake up and this would all be a dream. And he didn’t want that. God, he didn’t think he could take it. 

Finally, though, he heard Gwen chuckle as she began to wiggle. Clearly, the hug had lingered too long and had become awkward for the girl. He had a moment to regret that, not wanting Gwen to feel awkward around him, but as he loosened his arms and let her pull back a little, he instantly missed her familiar warmth. 

“Yes, yes, I missed you too, you big lug. But we can’t just stand around hugging all day,” she said with a kind smile, eyes soft as melted chocolate, a delicacy he had seen Merlin eat once but had never had the chance to taste himself (despite the boy offering it, of course). Arthur heard himself grumble, something about how _yes_ , they could. But Gwen just laughed, eyes fond. 

It was then that he noticed the black eye. 

And suddenly he was furious, eyes hardening as he stared at the offending mark, marring the beautiful skin found there. He noticed the moment that Gwen noticed his look, as she deflated, eyes dimming as she privately recalled something. Absently, Arthur raised his hand and gently touched the marred skin, blood slowly beginning to boil, more so when Gwen flinched back a little. 

“Who did this,” he intoned, eyes dark with anger. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”

Gwen just tsked, before moving away completely. Arthur took a moment to mourn the loss, but he had more important things to worry about. Namely, finding the names of the men he was about to murder. 

“Well. That’s why I’ve come. Now, you have to promise not to do anything rash,” she began, before Arthur interrupted. 

“Me, do something rash? Please, Guinevere. You insult me.”

Gwen just rolled her eyes, the fond look returning as the pair shared a secret grin. After all, they both knew all too well how rash he could be. 

“I’m sure. Anyway, you have to promise, Arthur. Please?” 

Arthur mulled it over, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, Gwen taking a seat in the wooden chair by the table. Gaius was still in the room, but he was kindly pretending to focus on his potions, giving them a little privacy. Arthur had no doubt that the older man wasn’t shamelessly eavesdropping. Well, he didn’t blame him. They were in the middle of his quarters after all. 

After a moment of thought, as Gwen stared at him with pleading eyes, Arthur gave in. Uncrossing his arms and rolling his eyes, he stood up straight and walked over to the table. 

“Okay. Fine. I promise. Now, what happened?”

Gwen gave him a happy smile, then explained the predicament. 

Well, he thought afterward, feeling numb and dull. Fuck. 

Apparently, shortly after he had left, a band of renegade sorcerers had ridden into town, demanding they get paid for… whatever reason. They had power. Fayford didn’t. Who knew why, really? The powerful always preyed on the weak, those bastards.

It made his blood boil. How dare they? How dare they enter his town and take what they wanted? And he wasn’t even there to protect them. It wasn’t fair. 

Gwen explained how his male friends had plotted to fight the wizards back, but that Gwen and Ygraine had begged them not to, knowing that fighting magic with swords would only make the king retaliate. After all, the king didn’t care why non-magical people fought back. Just that any act of swordplay against sorcerers was treated as a rebellion. And they couldn’t afford to have their men shipped off to the reform camps while the women and children were forced into the fields, working back breaking hours for almost no pay or food. 

Arthur thought about that and how it was good his mother and sort of paramour had stopped his friends from their actions, even though he knew had he been there, he would have roused the men anyway and taken his sword to kill the sorcerers regardless. So maybe Gwen’s insistence that he not do anything rash made a lot more sense now. 

She had gotten the black eye when she had pulled Gwaine back from hitting the main sorcerer, knowing he’d just be killed if he even tried. The sorcerer has struck her, then, forcing her onto the ground in pain as he cruelly laughed. Arthur began to think of all the ways he could kill the man and never have it traced back to him, when Gwen sighed. 

“Your mother looked after me, saying that she knew the boys were going to do something stupid if we didn’t get help soon. I had the idea to come to you, though. I remember your letters explaining that you were the servant to the prince. I was thinking, well, maybe. Maybe we could request some aide from the king? I know your letters said you and the prince weren’t close, but perhaps we could garner some aide? We can’t keep giving into the sorcerers, Arthur. We have so little food as it is. We won’t survive the winter if we give any more away.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck. 

Arthur turned and began to pace, eyes hard as he thought. 

Well, he knew the king would never help them. He had never shared a conversation with the man, but somehow knew for sure that he’d just sneer and turn them away. He hated non-magical people. And a fully non-magical town requesting help against renegade sorcerers? Ha! Fat chance. 

But maybe, if not the king…

“No,” Arthur mused, not seeing the crestfallen look Gwen have at the words. “No, the king won’t help us. He’d probably let us all die before he’d be willing to help. We can’t ask him. But, maybe, the prince…”

He shouldn’t. Couldn’t. He was already running far too late, had already manipulated the prince to get what he wanted enough. The prince had risked his life to save him once. He couldn’t dare ask the boy to do it again. 

But… 

But, Merlin was the most powerful sorcerer in the world. He faced griffins and evil sorcerers without even breaking a sweat. His only fear was overly flirtatious young women, apparently, which wouldn’t be a problem in Fayford. If anyone could protect his people, it would be him. 

“How many sorcerers are there, do you reckon?” He questioned, eyes hard on Gwen. She shrugged, playing with her hair. 

“I don’t know. Twenty, thirty? Maybe more. Some of them don’t seem to have a lot of magic, while others seem to have a lot more, setting fires and then only extinguishing them when they get whatever they wanted. We’d probably need at least as many sorcerers to fight back against them, though. Some of them seem really powerful. Especially their leader.”

Yeah, Arthur thought with a snort. Like they could defeat Merlin. He was certain Merlin could beat them all, blindfolded, with both hands tied behind his back. With a headache, even. He wasn’t worried about that. 

What he was worried about was making the request. 

He didn’t want to take advantage of Merlin and the feelings he knew the boy had. But… but this was his _home_. His people. He couldn’t let them starve when he could rightly do something about it. That’s what had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place. 

And so, against his better judgement. Against his promises to himself. Against all logic and sanity. 

He found himself outside Merlin’s room, Gwen at his side, mustering up the courage to enter. 

_Come on_ , he mentally growled at himself. He’d faced more fearsome foes before. Like the giant mountain lion pack that had been terrorizing his village for weeks before he found and killed them singlehandedly when he was ten. Or the band of non-magical bandits who had tried to steal his mother’s favorite necklace when he was fifteen, the boy running after them and beating them to get it back. Or, well. Many other things. Merlin? Girly, prissy, _Mer_ lin? No. Not even in the top ten. 

Still. He hesitated, Gwen wringing her hands at her sides as they stood, frozen. Arthur could hear movement inside, meaning the boy was indeed awake, probably angry that Arthur wasn’t there. He’d be angrier when he noticed that he hadn’t brought his breakfast, hadn’t even thought to request another servant to bring it up. Crap. 

Oh well. He was preoccupied. 

Well. Here went nothing. 

With a deep breath, Arthur pushed open the door, wincing when it slammed into the wall, causing the prince inside to jump as he wheeled around. Apparently Arthur had taken so long that he was no longer in his night clothes but in one of his court outfits, a blue and purple satin robe with billowing arms, his neckerchief nowhere to be seen, replaced with a high collar that dwarfed him. Ah. Apparently today was one of the court days. Shit. 

“Arthur! Where the hell have you been, you clotpole? It’s been almost an hour! I know we’re friends and all, but you should at least _pretend_ you’re a competent-”

Merlin broke off his tirade abruptly, eyes widening as he glanced behind Arthur, before shuttering completely. Arthur felt bewildered for a brief moment, before he felt someone shuffle awkwardly at his side. He then remembered why he had come here and who he was with. How he had forgotten, he had no idea. 

(It definitely wasn’t because Merlin looked hilarious when he got angry in his pretentious court clothes, like a child playing dress up, pretending at being an adult.)

As he remembered his plan, he carefully closed the door to the room so no one could hear (glad for Merlin’s silencing charms, magic a wonder sometimes), and ushered Gwen further in. She had a salve on her eye, curtesy of Gaius, and was holding a cold pack to it to help with the swelling. 

“I’m so sorry, _Mer_ lin, but I had more important matters to attend to,” Arthur said flippantly, briefly confused at the shocked gasp Gwen gave him, looking at her in confusion. It wasn’t until Merlin spoke, words icy, that he understood her fear. 

“Oh, did you now, boy? And what is so important that you didn’t have time for your master?” Merlin bit out, eyes dark and promising retribution. It made Arthur’s heart stop, but only for a moment. Once he realized the crackle of power he usually felt when Merlin was truly angry was absent, he relaxed, realizing he was only acting. But why…

Ah, he realized suddenly, feeling like the prat Merlin always called him. Of course Merlin was acting. He didn’t know who Gwen was. While he was harshest when his father was around, Merlin was always distant in public, not wanting word to get back to his father that he was actually being kind to his servant. He had foolishly assumed that, of course Merlin would trust Gwen out of hand, who wouldn’t, she was the sweetest, kindest girl in all of Albion. Of course she’d never betray them. But Merlin had no idea who she was. Just that she was a stranger in his room. He really wasn’t the brightest person at times. In his defense, he was concerned for his home, thanks ever so.

“Oh,” he breathed, smacking himself upside the head. That made both of his friends look at him like he was mad, but whatever. 

“Merlin, you don’t have to pretend. It’s safe, she won’t tell on us. Merlin, this is Gwen, my dearest friend. Gwen, this is Merlin. My… friend.”

Arthur didn’t know why he stumbled on the word friend, having long since gotten use to thinking of the prince as such. But it just had felt… weird. Introducing his oldest and dearest friend to the prince, who he felt so deeply for yet didn’t quite understand why, other than they were bound together by Fate, herself. 

Arthur could see when recognition lighted in Merlin’s eyes, the boy relaxing somewhat, but not fully. Oh, he was sure no one but him would have noticed, but he could see the tension that Merlin held in his eyes, even as he grinned at the girl. 

“Oh! Yes, I remember. Arthur’s told me a lot about you,” Merlin grinned, the words only slightly strained. It wasn’t entirely untrue. He had spoken of Gwen before, but only once or twice. He didn’t know why he was so reluctant to speak of her, as he usually never minded talking about her to his friends, but with Merlin… well. It had felt wrong, he supposed. Talking about the Love of His Life to someone who… _cared_ about him. And he hated the look in Merlin’s eye when he spoke of Gwen, his voice soft and reverent despite himself. There was an unending sorrow mixed with such a deep longing in them that Arthur himself almost felt it. It was safer and kinder to just not talk about her. Plus, it did hurt him to think of her, and what they had lost.

“Has he, now,” Gwen questioned slowly, looking between the two with questioning eyes. It was then that he remembered the things he wrote in his letters home, suppressing the wince as he recalled how he had tried to downplay his relationship with the prince. He wasn’t sure why he did, but it just… didn’t feel right, writing down the feelings that plagued him. So he just complained about how Merlin would make him do this or that, not explaining that he was usually the one who insisted on doing the work. That Merlin would allow him to just laze about doing nothing if it were up to him. 

“Yeah! He always talks about you, on and on. Can’t get him to shut up!” Merlin lied, grin strained even as his eyes darted between the pair, an unknown emotion swirling in his eyes. 

Now Arthur was confused, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at Merlin like he was mad. What was the idiot doing? Trying to embarrass him? He rarely spoke about Gwen, thank you very much! He wasn’t a nattering Nancy, not like _Mer_ lin, who would rant for hours about this thing or that thing, giggling about what this noble did or whatnot. 

“Oh! He- he does?” Gwen replied, cheeks flushed, but smile oddly pleased as she looked up at Arthur through her lashes. Arthur almost missed the look of deep pain in Merlin’s eyes at the look, as lost as he was in Gwen’s eyes. But he noticed it, at the last moment. He always noticed Merlin, one way or another. 

“Oh, yeah,” Merlin rasped, swallowing thickly as he pasted a clearly fake grin on his lips. Well, clearly to Arthur. He doubted Gwen would notice. “He speaks of you often. He especially spoke of your beauty, which I see he did not exaggerate, my lady.”

With that, Merlin bowed with a flourish, his grin turning slightly more real as he acted the fool, eyes filling with mirth as he looked up at the pair. 

It was then, Arthur realized faintly, that he understood what Merlin was doing. He was trying to act like a _wing man_. Playing it up, making Arthur sound like more of a gentleman that he truly was. What Arthur couldn’t figure out, he thought with a roiling stomach as he watched Gwen giggle, Merlin bouncing up with a happy grin on his face- like he’d done something right- was _why_. Why was he acting like this? Why was he trying to make Arthur seem like the valiant hero, when he _wasn’t_? Especially when Arthur knew that he… that _Merlin_ … 

But maybe he was wrong, he wondered faintly as Merlin charmed Gwen; his dopey smile and happy-go-lucky attitude he usually only showed around Freya and _him_ as charming to Gwen as it was to Arthur. Maybe Merlin didn’t have feeling for him. Maybe he had, indeed, been wrong all along. 

He ignored how the feelings that thought brought up felt wrong and twisted in his stomach, making Arthur grit his teeth with annoyance as he watched Gwen giggle at Merlin’s words. It was then that he tuned back into the conversation, his confused feelings pushed aside for indignation when he heard what Merlin was saying to make Gwen giggle so hard. 

“Hey, hold on one second! T-that didn’t happen! He’s lying, I never-“ Arthur was cut off by Merlin’s highly amused voice, his lips curled into a fond smile. 

“Never fell headfirst into a pile of horse dung, after I had _told_ you to be careful as the ground was uneven? Yeah, totally. A complete lie,” Merlin stressed, winking at a red-faced Gwen, who was trying so hard to be a good friend and stifle her laughter. Unlike Merlin, who was grinning like the bastard he was, pleased as punch at his defamations of Arthur’s character. Oh, that prat…

Setting his jaw in mock anger, Arthur jolted forward, grabbing the laughing boy, heart lurching at the startled yelp the prince gave, laughter let loose as Arthur put him in a headlock and roughly scrubbed the top of his head. Merlin gasped as he tried to regain his breath, laughter still leaking out despite his best efforts. 

“Arthur… Arthur _stop_ … I can’t… ha! I am your prince; you have to obey me. Gwen! Help!” Merlin cried, arms struggling fruitlessly against Arthur’s grasp, the wriggling boy a warm presence against his side, filling his heart with that damned emotion he tried so hard to ignore. He couldn’t help the fondness in his gaze as he looked at Merlin, a stupid smile on his lips as his body came alive with the feeling of the wriggling prince in his arms.

“I’ll show you to mar my good name. Take it back! Confess your sins!” 

“Never!” Merlin cried, his voice filled with such affection that Arthur _ached_. “You have to face your own mistakes one day, Arthur. Own up to your follies! Be a man!”

“Oh, I’ll show how much of a man I am,” he muttered darkly, arm tightening slightly even as Merlin wiggled happily. It was only when he heard Gwen gasp, her giggles faded into silence, that Arthur looked up at his oldest friend, having almost forgotten she was there. But the look on her face… 

Immediately, Arthur dropped Merlin like he had been scalded, face bright red. He stared at Gwen in horror, not liking the look of confused understanding she had on her face as she looked between the pair, like she has finally understood something that had been puzzling her for a long time.

But no. _No_ , he thought. What could she have seen in their interactions that made her look so scandalized, so… heartbroken? Because she had no reason to look like she had lost something precious to her, only to smile sadly, like she was trying to pretend she was okay with it. Because she hadn’t lost anything. Anything at all. Arthur tussled with all his friends. And maybe he never had such a sappy look on his face while doing so, heart lighter than air, but…

Merlin sat back at that, blushing bright red, but he couldn’t get the dopey, soft look off his face as he stared at Arthur with that damned _adoration_ , like Arthur had hung the sky and the moon, specifically for him. Suddenly stifling under the looks from his two friends, best friends if he was being honest, he stood up to pace the room. He could feel their eyes on him, but he didn’t care. 

After a moment, he heard Gwen clear her throat, the lighthearted moment from earlier fading as the reason she had come made itself known. Arthur was almost glad for it. He didn’t want to think about why he felt so wrong inside, why he had been so quick to put his arms around Merlin, like he was the master, not the servant. Like he had any right to manhandle a prince. Like he had any right to touch that which did not belong to him.

“I am sorry, your highness, for intruding on you. But I’m unfortunately here for a reason. You see, the village I come from, Arthur’s home, is under attack from some cruel renegade sorcerers. I had hoped to come here, to petition to the king for help. I- I know he doesn’t like non-magical people, but I was hoping that, you know, since he had agreed to our request for more grain that maybe he could, I don’t know. Send some aide? I- I can see that you are Arthur are… are _close_ , so could you put in a good word for us? I’m sorry for asking, I wouldn’t if it wasn’t necessary. I’m just…” Gwen trailed off as tears filled her eyes, her hand covering her mouth as a soft sob was released. Before Arthur could move to comfort her, as was his right as her friend slash almost boyfriend, pushing aside his confusion at her words (accepted the grain proposal? What?), he saw Merlin rush forward, kneeling before her on the ground as she sat on the edge of Merlin’s settee, his eyes full of compassion and care. 

“Oh, hey, come on now. Don’t cry, it’ll be alright. Hey, don’t worry! It’ll be fine!” Merlin assured, grabbing her hands and holding them tight. Arthur couldn’t stop the flash of jealously that rose within him when Gwen smiled wetly back, her hands clutching right back. 

(He just wasn’t sure _who_ he was jealous of. Or for whom.) 

(Gwen. Obviously. He was jealous for Gwen. Why would he be jealous for Merlin? That made no sense.) 

“Now, tell me everything. I’m sure I can find some way to help, but I have to know all the details first.”

With that, Gwen told her story again, Merlin rising to sit next to her as she told her story with as much detail as possible, occasionally asking questions that seemed odd but probably had a point to a sorcerer. At one-point Merlin put his arm around Gwen, when she had recalled how she had been hurt, tears rising as she explained how helpless she had felt. Merlin had shushed her, stroking her hair like he would stroke Freya’s after a particularly hard night following her cursed wandering. 

It was the kind of actions a big brother would do to his younger sister. Like a friend did for another friend. It shouldn’t make Arthur’s insides roar with jealousy, eyes glaring from the corner he was hiding in, watching the proceedings with a roiling stomach. After all, Merlin was just being kind. Merlin rarely had an opportunity to show the kindness that Gaius had warned him about, the kindness that Arthur could now always see plain as day. He usually reserved that kindness for Freya, eyes soft as he cooed at her like the girl he was. 

( _Or for him_ , his inner voice whispered, causing his gut to clench. He pushed the feeling aside. He was jealous of Merlin, not for Merlin. Jealous that he was holding Gwen and comforting her instead of him. Not that Merlin was showing his unending kindness to someone that _wasn’t_ him. That was stupid. Why would he be jealous of that?)

What was worse was that Gwen allowed it. Not a word of protest as she rested her head on the boy’s shoulder, eyes sad and distant. She had met him nary ten minutes ago! Why was she so keen to let him comfort her, when usually she held herself at a distance towards men she didn’t really know? Did she truly feel that safe around a relative stranger?

Well. Arthur couldn’t really blame her. It was hard to distrust Merlin when he was acting like himself, not a prattish, arrogant prince. He was just so genuine, so open. It made Arthur hate the king all over again that Merlin felt like he had to stifle his true nature in order to be accepted by the cruel older man. 

“I promise you, Gwen. I will help you,” Merlin stressed as he looked at Gwen deep in the eyes, after she had finished her tale and was sniffing slightly. Gwen gave him her patented bright as the sun smile, throwing her arms around him tight. Arthur had to turn away, lest he be sick. 

“Oh, thank you, your highness, thank you! I had heard that you were a good soul, kind, but this proves it. So, you will talk to your father, I mean the king, for us?” She breathed, eyes wide and shining. It made his stomach churn. But Arthur just watched as Merlin’s eyes dimmed, his smile fading as he worried his lip. 

“Ah. I, uh. Well, my lady. I’m not sure that would be such a good idea. I mean, father, that is, the king, he… he doesn’t like non-magical people much, you see. Not that there’s anything wrong with not having magic! Well. To me. Though you can’t tell anyone I said that. I just mean… I can’t ask my father for help. He wouldn’t… well”, Merlin finished lamely, a grimace on his face. Gwen’s face fell, eyes flashing with hurt and confusion. 

“Wait, but I thought… you said that you promised…” Gwen trailed off, teary eyed and confused. Arthur was about to rush to her rescue, yelling at Merlin for getting her hopes up only to dash them so cruelly, when he saw Merlin give his impish grin. 

“Yeah! I did! I said that _I_ would help you, my lady. And I always stick to my word.”

Strangely enough, Merlin ended that sentence with a wink. But it wasn’t towards _Gwen_ he winked. 

It was towards Arthur. 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anyone was curious, Arthur does go down to visit the Dragon, but only for funsies. He, as of yet, has had no need for the Dragon's help, since Merlin has taken care of all the problems thus far with his magic. Kilgharrah is just kind of chilling, being all mysterious, pretending he is annoyed by Arthur but actually kind of liking him, since Arthur can be unknowingly charming when he's not all prattish. Why does Arthur go to visit him? ... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Oh! And on a serious note, not story based. I know things are getting kind of dicey in the world, and things are rough all around, especially for black people. I just wanted to say that I fully support the BLM movement, and hope that anyone currently affected is doing alright and gets the help they need. I am a white woman, so I probably am not the best person to go to for advice or help, but if you ever need someone to talk to, even if it's just about fandom stuff, you can find me at [SpikeisAwesome456](https://spikeisawesome456.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, or at [~Draco the Death Eating Cupcake~](https://www.facebook.com/Dracothedeatheatingcupcake/) on Facebook. Feel free to hit me up and we can just chat, if you need someone. I hope all of y'all are doing alright out there. <3


	8. So Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mild panic attack, some internalized homophobia, distant fathers, and an absent thought of suicide. Like, "this is so embarrassing, I want to die," nothing serious, but still. Just a warning, just in case.
> 
> _~~~We're so close to reaching  
>  That famous happy end  
> Almost believing  
> This one's not pretend  
> Let's go on dreaming  
> For we know we are  
> So close, so close  
> And still so far~~~_  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> Hope y'all are doing okay. I got myself a job, entirely by accident! The parent of two sisters who went to the after-school program I worked for, when schools were open, asked if I wanted to be a babysitter/nanny for the girls and their younger brother, who is five. While not my usual scene, as I never did the whole babysitting thing, it's still work and the girls were always very well behaved at the program. Good thing I'm done writing this story, or else I'd have less time to write, aha. As it is, I may be a bit more forgetful with posting (I almost forgot today, with the excitement of being hired) so please forgive me if I forget! Feel free to send me a message if it's been longer than two weeks since the last post. I'm usually not forgetful, so I should post at least once a week, but it may not be as regular, ya feel me? 
> 
> Anyway! This chapter. Ahhh. I loved it while writing it, feeling it was emotional and powerful. Then, when rereading it the next day, I was all "... okay, so I guess I never got over my 'melodramatic' teenager phase, then." Ahh. This chapter is melodramatic AF, but I think I toned down the unrealistic aspect of it. Basically, Merlin is just having a bad day and probably just needs a nap. And maybe some cuddles from a certain someone...
> 
> Aha. ^-^ 
> 
> (Also, the title of this chapter comes from the song [_So Close_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q2WHo5bGRNw&list=PLOV76J4b4cmiMIZrwhX1VmsnE89VeTnMu&index=3&t=0s), from the Disney movie Enchanted. That movie came out when I was 8 and that song remains my example of a romantic song. If I ever get married, I want that to play as my first dance song. It doesn't have a lot to do with the chapter, but I had a couple lines that reminded me of it, which is why I made it the chapter title. ^-^ )
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!!

“This has got to be your worst idea yet, Merlin. Won’t someone notice you’re gone? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you are kind of, I don’t know... the prince?” Arthur growled, pacing the room as Merlin calmly ate his lunch. He had never actually gotten his breakfast, he mused sourly, his manservant first having forgotten, and him then getting too excited over his brilliant plan. 

And it was a brilliant plan, thank you very much. Not that Arthur would appreciate it. See? He could stress the first syllable of a name too. Arthur wasn’t special. 

It had been a long morning. First, he had woken up, smile on his lips as he recalled his lazy dream, of him and Arthur sitting side by side by the most beautiful lake he had ever seen, gold and silver shining off the crystal water. Nothing, well… naughty had happened. It had just been a calm, pleasant dream, leaving Merlin languid and satisfied when he awoke, soft sunlight filtering through the blinds. 

While he had followed his promise, the one he had made himself before Arthur had returned, he had stopped hating himself for feeling what he felt. Freya would speak to him often enough, when they had the rare moment alone, telling him softly that it was better to let himself feel what he felt, to not repress his emotions to himself, at least. That would just lead to self-hatred and pain, and, she said with teary eyes, she couldn’t bear the thought of him in pain. It was a cruel manipulative trick that Merlin saw right through, but it still worked. 

Besides. He was getting so tired of hating himself for the love he felt. For the feelings that were so pure and so true to him that he felt like he would cry if he had to suppress them any longer. 

It didn’t help that Arthur- stupid, noble Arthur- made it so hard to move on. 

Every day. Every day he would do something that made Merlin fall in love with him all over again. Usually it was in the early morning, while Merlin was still half asleep, languid and relaxed from his dreams, usually about the prat himself. And then, when Arthur walked in, carrying a tray of food as he opened the blinds, smiling so softly at the groans of protest Merlin made, padding over on soft feet as he gently pulled the sheets away, eyes like a warm desert oasis. He couldn’t look away, like a dying man desperate for a drop of water. 

It was those moments that he most betrayed himself. That he let his guard down and showed his love the most. And Arthur would usually allow it, for a moment or two, before rolling his eyes and smirking at him. The prat. 

Arthur didn’t love him. He had resigned himself to that fact months ago. But it was enough to have him here. To see him every day, to touch him and be touched back. It was enough to see his smile and hear his laugh, as beautiful as a bell. 

And when he felt his arms around him…

Arms so tight and strong he felt like he could cry…

It was enough. 

It had to be. 

Merlin still remembered how Arthur had looked in near death. The gold sheen on his skin gone, turned pale and chalky. How his lips, usually so pink and shiny, were dull and chapped. How he barely breathed. 

And it was his fault. 

All his fault. 

More than anything, he knew that he couldn’t bury another friend in secret. 

He couldn’t be the cause of the death of another loved one. 

He couldn’t. 

Luckily, Gaius, amazing, incredible Gaius had found the cure. He had barely said the words when Merlin was out the door, taking a horse and off quick as a wink. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. He knew his father would disapprove. It was lucky that Merlin was such a bad prince that he would routinely go missing for days at a time, no one the wiser about where he had gone, except maybe Freya or Gaius, neither of whom would ever betray him. It made his dramatic journey to the cave that much easier. 

And when the serving girl who, he would later learn, had told Arthur the wrong information had shown up, knife in her shaking hands, eyes wide, well. 

He hadn’t killed her. 

She should be grateful for that. 

Had he known then that she was the one who had poisoned his love? 

Oh. 

She should be grateful he hadn’t known. 

Getting the antidote hadn’t taken long after that, neither had it taken long for Gaius to make it. He refused to think about his anxiety watching Gaius give Arthur the antidote, about the panic that the boy didn’t get better immediately like he’d hoped. The terror that maybe it wouldn’t be enough, that Arthur would die regardless. 

He also ignored the relief when he’d seen Arthur wake, looking at him with tired but lucid eyes. He’d almost done something stupid, like kiss the prat, but he’d reined it in. Arthur wouldn’t have appreciated the act, anyway.  
All in all, it had been a trying time. 

After he had woken that morning, though, anxious to see his friend, he had realized that Arthur wasn’t there. That wasn’t completely unusual. It sometimes took the servant a little while to get his food, especially after he had finally started eating. 

Gaius’s food, he had thought, moping. Never his food. Arthur didn’t like being indebted to people, he supposed. Even a person like Merlin. His friend.

Whatever. He had gotten over it. He still tried to tempt the boy, but it was mostly habit by that point. He had long since resigned himself to the fact that Arthur would never give in. He was too proud. If the thought caused his stomach to clench, appetite gone, well. He usually had eaten enough food at least. And he knew that Arthur took his leftovers and gave them to the youngest serving staff, a fact he had discovered after having followed him curiously once. 

It had made his cheeks hurt with the giant grin he couldn’t control as he saw Arthur surrounded by children, chatting lightly as he gave them the scraps. He could get in a lot of trouble for the action, but he knew Arthur didn’t care. He was so good like that. After that, Merlin made sure to order more food than he needed and didn’t even touch half of it. He felt that Arthur knew what he was doing when the boy would smile sweetly at him, a tender look in his eyes. 

The point was, Arthur hadn’t arrived that morning. At all. By the time Arthur was officially late, Merlin needing to get up and dressed for the day, Merlin was almost in a full-fledged panic. 

Arthur had never been so late before. He was usually very punctual, hating tardiness like no one’s business. He had even started to infect Merlin with his anal retentiveness, leaving his advisors and Court Sorcerers impressed with his newfound responsibility. Yeah, right. It was just Arthur and his bullying ways. 

But Merlin had gone through most of his morning routine, pulling off his night clothes and putting on the damned court outfit his father made him wear to the court meetings, all without a peep from his manservant. 

Merlin had been minutes away from storming down to Gaius’s rooms, yelling that Arthur had been kidnapped, when the door had slammed open, startling him something fierce. 

And after that, well. 

Merlin had never known what it was like to feel his heart break so swiftly, before he had finally met the girl that the man he loved was in love with. 

And he couldn’t even blame Arthur. Gwen was a beautiful woman, and from the brief words they spoke, she seemed undoubtedly kind. Enough so that Merlin felt the need to build Arthur up, to make sure she knew he hadn’t forgotten her. It was his way of making up for stealing her love from her. For being selfish and cruel and awful. 

But the more they interacted, the more he liked her. She reminded him of Freya, her soft giggles the same as his pseudo sister’s. He found himself playing the fool, loving how she laughed. Had he not been, well. Gay. He was sure he’d have loved her, too. As it was, he did feel something for her. Maybe if they both weren’t in love with Arthur (and she was, he knew, since she looked at the boy with the same adoration and affection that he did), he could have tried something with her and have been content enough. Maybe he’d not feel the fire he felt when he looked at Arthur, but it would likely have been good enough, for him, and maybe even for her. 

But they were both far gone for the noble prat. So, it would never be. 

Still. He wanted to help her. To protect her. Like he did with Freya. 

And so, he had come up with his Most Brilliant Plan (trademark pending). 

So what, Arthur scoffed at his idea? What did Arthur know. He wasn’t the prince. He wasn’t the one who had defended these lands from countless danger. He wasn’t the world’s most powerful warlock. He had no right to judge his plan. 

And it was a good plan! He would tell his father he was going out on a pilgrimage to an ancient site of power for sorcerers, and that he wanted to go alone. Powerful as he was, his father knew he didn’t need protection, so he wouldn’t care if he went alone. And instead of going on the pilgrimage, he’d head to Fayford instead with Arthur to deal with the sorcerers alone. It was fool proof. 

Well. Had been fool proof. Until Freya had entered when his lunch had arrived, after he had finished with training for the day and returned to his quarters where Gwen and Arthur had remained, the pair sitting close together, soft smiles on their faces as their legs brushed together. He had felt gutted for a long moment, until his pseudo sister had entered and had questioned who the mysterious girl in his bedroom was. 

And now the pair were huddled in the corner, chatting like old friends, Freya twirling her hair as she smiled sweetly at Gwen. It made Merlin wonder if Freya had a crush. He would definitely make a note to tease her about it later. 

The problem was that he knew Freya. She would never allow him to go alone. He had been banking on her staying here, to keep his father calm and collected. But if she came with…

“You need to learn to have faith in me, Arthur. Have I ever let you down yet?” 

Merlin looked up at Arthur with raised eyebrows, an unimpressed look on his face. Arthur just scowled and paced some more. Merlin rolled his eyes at his theatrics. 

“Take a seat, for pity’s sake. You’re making me anxious,” Merlin quoted, wrinkling his nose to indicate he was teasing the servant. Arthur growled, eyes flashing, but did as Merlin said. 

However, it seemed he had misjudged how close he was to Merlin as he sat with an oomph, their legs colliding, and their arms pressed together. Merlin’s face flushed red hot, as did Arthur’s, but to his amazement Arthur didn’t pull away. If anything, he shifted closer, until their sides were touching too, and Merlin could smell the clean scent of the soap that Arthur used. He must have bathed the previous night. The servant didn’t bathe as often as Merlin did, but he could always tell when the boy had. It was heady. 

Gulping down the bite of lettuce he had been chewing on, Merlin struggled to find something to say. He was painfully reminded of earlier, when Arthur had put his arms around him and had wrestled with him, like he had the night before and many nights before that. If Merlin wasn’t positive the boy was straight, he would have bet good money on Arthur doing it as an excuse to get his hands on Merlin’s lithe body. 

As it was, it always left him breathless, and insanely glad that Arthur didn’t seem to care about decorum. Will had always been reluctant to wrestle with Merlin, afraid to hurt the prince. He was glad Arthur didn’t have the same qualms, even though the thought shamed him. If he were a better person, he would put a stop to the actions, knowing he took more pleasure in the act than he should. Than Arthur meant. 

But. Well. 

Merlin never claimed to be a perfect man. 

And who could blame him when Arthur gave so freely, so willingly? He had been a bit ashamed when he’d seen the way Gwen had looked between them, like she had seen more in the actions than was there. No, he had wanted to tell her. It’s not like that. He loves you. Not me.

But he couldn’t figure out how to say it without it sounding so bitter. Or without betraying himself entirely. So, he had left it, and had instead listened to her plight and pushed the moment from his mind as he came up with his Most Brilliant Plan. 

And now here he was. Pressed against the Love of His Life while his pseudo sister had a crush on the Love of His Life’s Love of His Life. 

Life was stupid. 

“It’s going to be fine, Arthur. I’ll help you protect your village. You have my word,” Merlin muttered, finally, needing to say something when the silence had stretched too long. He felt the sigh that Arthur gave, before the boy leaned further against him, practically resting his head against Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin, frozen solid, stayed as still as a tree, terrified that if he moved Arthur would flee the moment and cover it up with his usual snide remark. And while he usually enjoyed the boy’s insolence, he didn’t want that. Not right now. Not when Gwen was here, Arthur so far gone for her it wasn’t funny. 

“I know. Thank you, Merlin. You don’t have to do this. You really are a true friend.”

Ah. Well. Hopefully, his gravestone said something kinder than “here lies Merlin Emrys, killed by his dumb, gay heart imploding.” 

With a strained smile, Merlin casually bumped his head against Arthur’s, meaning to remove it a second later but not finding the willpower to do so. It was more surprising that Arthur didn’t move away immediately. Instead, he left it, and just brushed the back of his hand against the back of Merlin’s, almost like he was about to… to link their fingers or something… 

Huh. 

It was. Nice. Being so close to Arthur. 

So close, and yet so far. 

They stayed like that for several moments, just existing together. The moment was broken when the bell chimed outside, signifying the turn of the hour. And so, with a heavy sigh and a boatload of regret, Merlin reluctantly peeled himself away from Arthur and stood on only slightly unsteady legs. He smiled tightly at Arthur, the boy frowning slightly. 

“Well. Guess I better get this over with. Freya, am I assuming you’re coming with us?” Merlin questioned with false confidence, looking lazily over at his pseudo sister, knowing the answer before she gave it. The unimpressed stare was answer enough. Rolling his eyes, he stuck his tongue out, not waiting to see her return gesture before heading for the door. 

“Fine. I’ll tell the king we’re both going on the pilgrimage. But it’s your job to ask Gaius to prepare at least two weeks’ worth of potions for you by the morning.”

“I’ll ask for three weeks, just to be safe. Be careful, Merlin. And good luck.” 

Before he could lose his nerve and run back to Arthur’s side and never leave, Merlin swept out of the room without a backwards glance and down the stairs, back stiff, marching to what would likely be yet another dull, dull meeting. 

He only hoped he could do his part well enough. 

As he sat at the king’s right-hand side, he couldn’t get the phantom feeling of Arthur’s warmth along his side. 

It helped protect against the chill he felt surround him as he listened to the meeting. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

“Father. May I have a word?”

He was sure that most people shouldn’t feel so nervous and terrified when asking to talk to their father. That it should be normal to ask to have a chat with the person who had helped bring them into this world. 

He had a second to feel a keen ache that that wasn’t the case for him. He didn’t even know why. 

The king just hummed, not looking up from the paper he was reading, a report from the reform camps detailing the ‘progress’ they had made. Well. It wasn’t a rejection. That’s something. 

“I just wanted to. Uh. Request a reprieve from my duties for the next week or two. I have been wanting to go take a pilgrimage to the shrine of Ivegrus, to hone my powers. The Lady Freya has requested to join me in my pilgrimage, to hone her power as well. Gaius has already agreed to prepare enough potion for her for the entirety of the trip, as well as for a week more, so there will be no issues there, your majesty. We will want to go alone to prevent the shrine from being overrun with too much magical energy. I will protect her, I swear on my life. We ask for leave at morning’s light.”

It felt wrong, talking to his own father so formally. It felt stiff and awkward and it made him want to cry. When had they gotten so distant that he was unable to even talk to his father? They had been close, once. Before he had fully recognized his power and they both realized how powerful he would grow to be, when he’d been roughly five or six. He had thought his father would have been proud of him. Instead he had only closed himself off, pushing Merlin away and dragging him away from any friend he managed to find. 

His heart skipped a beat as he watched his father slowly lower his paper and glance up at him, face carefully blank. His long hair was tied back with a hair tie, his beard neatly trimmed. He looked like a statue, Merlin felt. Cold. Impersonal. He hadn’t always been that way. He wondered where the father that had laughed and played with him as a child had gone. He wondered what he had done wrong to lead them to this place. So distant and fractured. He knew it had been his fault. Something he had done. Or hadn’t done. He just didn’t know what. Or if he even would be able to fix it if he knew what it was. 

“And what of your duties? We are entering winter soon. You have a responsibility to your people to provide them the aide they require. You would abandon them to gain more power for yourself? Have you not enough?”

Ow. That hurt. 

He swallowed thickly as he tried to think of a way to make this better. His father had sounded so distant just then. Like he had been speaking to any random sorcerer. Not his own son. 

This was obviously a bad day. There were some days that Merlin could almost pretend that his father cared for him. Days in which there was a familiarity in his eyes that reminded him of his youth, when he’d been young and carefree, his father chasing him in the courtyard, their laughter ringing out for the whole kingdom to hear. 

But some days… some days it was like they were strangers. Like they meant nothing to one another. Just a king speaking to a random citizen making a request. It seemed this was one of those days. It didn’t bode well for his Most Brilliant Plan. 

“I- I just. I thought it would be good to gain more control, before winter. The shrine of Ivegrus does not grant more power. It just grants control over the power you already have. I think of my people more than anything, I swear that to you, my king. But I have a duty to them to become the best prince I can be. So that I can… so that I can one day be as great a king as you are. So that I can- so I can be great like you.”

His voice cracked at the end. Damn him and his bleeding heart. He had chosen the shrine of Ivegrus, an old powerful warlock, as his chosen location for a fake pilgrimage since it was a place that was far enough away to warrant a few days of travel, but wasn’t that strange for him to travel to. Many sorcerers and sorceresses made the pilgrimage to hone the power they already had. He hoped his father would pay more attention to that part of his speech. Not the part where his damned heart gave him away. 

He wished he could read his father. It was like trying to read a stone statue. If one looked long enough, they could find meaning and emotion. But more often than not, it was just wishful thinking. Projected feelings. Not real. Never real. 

The silence stretched for long moments, his father just staring at him, the sweat beginning to drip down his back. He controlled his expression as well as he could, letting none of his anxiety show. After all, why would a request towards his own father for a pilgrimage garner any anxiety in a normal person? It shouldn’t. So, he would pretend his heart wasn’t pounding as his mind raced with alternative plans. If this didn’t work…

“Very well. I suppose I cannot fault you the desire to control your considerable power. I grant you leave of your duties for however long it takes you to complete your pilgrimage, as well as the use of two horses, one for you and one for the Lady Freya. I expect you both to return before the end of the month, however, or else I will send guards to retrieve you. Do these terms sound agreeable?”

Agreeable. Like this was just a business deal. Like a transaction between king and subject. Not father and son. Pushing down the pain that rose in him, his throat too thick to speak, Merlin just nodded curtly, waiting for his dismissal. His father just waved his hand, eyes back down to his paper, no longer interested in the conversation. 

Merlin turned at once, striding to the door. However… as he was about to exit, he found himself pausing, heart pounding as the emotions swirled within him. He felt his father’s eyes land on him after a moment passed, burning him with their heat. 

“Was there anything else you wanted?”

Emotionless. Uncaring. 

Unwanted. 

“When did we turn into this, father? Why can I never be enough?” 

Fuck. He shouldn’t have said that. Hadn’t meant to say it. It had just slipped out, unbidden. He had been so close, almost free to return back to Arthur and the girls, grinning at his success, bragging how his plan had worked. 

Instead he had ruined it by offending his father, unable to keep his insolent tongue. No wonder he was so drawn to Arthur. They were both stupid, insolent fools. 

A moment passed as his father stared at him, eyes burning his back. Merlin waited, wondering if he’d say anything. If he’d care at all. 

But the king said nothing. Just stared. 

Finally, he had had enough and fled the room, doors opening with a pulse of his magic, which was radiating out around him, thick and palpable. Perhaps he actually should go to the shrine of Ivegrus. Maybe it would help him control his raging power. 

As he reached his room, he took a second to lean against the thick wood of the door, breathing deeply. He needed to control himself. He didn’t want them to worry. Didn’t need them to know he had damned their village with his stupidity. 

After a moment, he felt composed enough to enter his room, fake smile on his face. Two eyes rose to meet his entrance, staring at him with wide eyes as he startled them out of conversation. He noticed that Freya was no longer there. Hopefully, she was down at Gaius’s, requesting the potions he had told his father Gaius had already agreed to make. He knew the older man would be more than willing to do as they asked, so he hadn’t been nervous about his minor fib. Part of him wished she had still been in his room, however. He could have used her calming presence right about then. 

He let his smile stretch farther to try and convince them all that he was fine. 

“So! Good news. The king has accepted my request for leave of my duties for my and Freya’s supposed pilgrimage to the shrine of Ivegrus. We leave at first light. We will have only two horses, but it should be fine if Freya rides with me and Gwen rides with Arthur.”

Gwen stood with a happy noise, grinning as she bounded over and wrapped her arms around him. He couldn’t help the way he stiffened at first, body still so tense from his talk with his father, but he quickly wrapped his arms around the girl, hoping she couldn’t feel the way he was shaking slightly. Luckily, she let go quickly, cheeks bright red as she took a hasty step back, grinning awkwardly at him. 

“That’s great news, Prince Merlin! Thank you so, so much. I will never forget your kindness,” she stressed, smile turning genuine as she looked at him with admiration. His throat turned thick again, eyes beginning to water against his will. He didn’t deserve her admiration. Especially since he feared he had ruined it all with his insolent words right before he had left the room, half afraid his father would reject his request out of spite. Once his father decided something, though, he rarely went back on his word. He had to hold onto that hope. He had to. 

Gwen bounded away at that, back to Arthur. Merlin couldn’t bring himself to look over at his manservant, knowing he would crumble if he did. He was barely holding himself together as it was. 

Time passed slowly after that, Merlin barely able to focus on his paperwork as his eyes swam and his breathing grew heavy, but he was unable to break down. Not with Arthur and Gwen there. It was funny. His room had always been the one place he could be himself completely, no hint of acting or pretense. Even now that Arthur spent a great deal of his time in his room, he still felt he didn’t have to pretend, when it was just the two of them. He had never felt as comfortable around another person as he did Arthur, not even Freya or Gaius, though they were close. He still hid some things, to protect them and their feelings. He had never felt like he had to hide anything from Arthur. Never. 

But now. With Gwen there. He couldn’t let himself take comfort in Arthur’s calming presence. Couldn’t let himself talk lightly with the prat as they both did their work. Instead, he had to listen as they spoke softly, doing his best to not eavesdrop, even when he would hear them laugh quietly together, heart aching, wishing he could be a part of their quiet joy but knowing he had no place there. They were in love. They had no place for Merlin there. 

It was as he was about to stand to exit the room- part of him dying to see if he could head to Freya’s room so he could get some of his misery out- that he heard someone stand, the footsteps heavy as they neared him. Merlin couldn’t help the way he tensed, knowing who was now standing behind him but unable to turn around lest he fall apart like a child. 

He should be stronger than this. Should be able to take his father’s rejection like a man. No wonder his father hated him. He couldn’t even be a man properly. Couldn’t be the proper son, a son who loved women, who wasn’t constantly a disappointment, who was actually worth the king’s precious time and energy. 

Merlin almost jumped out of his skin when he felt the warm hand touch his back, not quite gentle, but tender all the same. He could almost pretend it felt reverent. He tried his hardest to put a rein on his emotions, to prevent Arthur from seeing his shame, but it was almost impossible. His only solace was that both people in the room were non-magical, meaning they couldn’t feel how his magic swirled around him, thick and unhappy. At least there was that. 

“Hey,” Arthur said softly, hand moving up his back to cup the nape of his neck, fingers curled protectively around it, thumb rubbing slow circles at the base of his hair. Merlin couldn’t help the shudder that rose through him, though it was mortifying. He usually didn’t mind showing his emotions around Arthur (that weren’t his stupid love, of course), no longer offended by his snide comments but comforted by them, knowing it was how the boy showed affection. But it just felt different today. Now that Gwen was there. Now that Merlin couldn’t pretend that he didn’t see the love his servant held for the girl. Now that he couldn’t pretend Arthur might, maybe, someday, feel the way he did. Not that it was likely, but before he could pretend. Now? Now he couldn’t. And it just… stung.

“Merlin,” Arthur continued, startling Merlin out of his thoughts again, his voice lightly admonishing. “Talk to me. I’m not a mind reader, I can’t read your pretty little head. Did your father say something to you during the meeting? Or are you regretting your offer? Because you don’t have to come and help, Merlin. I can keep my village safe, you don’t-“

“No!” Merlin exclaimed, a little too loud as he turned around to face Arthur, blushing when he saw Gwen startle from where she had been previously looking into the fire. He offered her a strained smile as she looked his way, casting a spell for a silencing barrier as she returned his smile and turned back to the fire, so he wouldn’t disturb her again. And so that he and Arthur could have some privacy. 

“No,” he repeated, softer, missing the feel of Arthur’s hand on his neck. He had dislodged it in his haste to face the boy but mourned its loss dearly. 

“I want to help you and Gwen, Arthur. I really do. Please don’t think I’m regretting anything. Well. Related to that, at least.” 

He had plenty he regretted. Like ever falling in love with the man before him. 

Oh, who was he kidding. 

He could never regret that. 

He heard Arthur sigh as the man took a seat perpendicular to him at the table he usually worked at. He had a desk, but he preferred working at the table, for some reason. It was more open, he supposed. Less suffocating. 

“Are you sure? Because this doesn’t have to be your fight. You have no reason to care about Fayford. It’s okay if you don’t want to come. I wouldn’t blame you for it. Neither would Gwen.”

Oh, Arthur. Dear sweet, stupid Arthur. Of course he had reason to care. Arthur cared. And that was enough to make him ready to move mountains if he had to. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easy, you prat. I already promised the lovely lady Gwen I’m going. Do you think I’m a liar? Or a man who goes back on my word? You wound me, Arthur,” Merlin claimed with fake solemnity, though he couldn’t help the way he smiled softly, eyes watching Arthur with the emotions he couldn’t control. Arthur snorted in reply, nudging his calf with his bare foot. To his surprise, Arthur didn’t remove it after, just left it there as he thought through his next words. Merlin didn’t mention it. 

“Do you really think she’s lovely?” Were the words that came from Arthur’s mouth a few moments later, causing Merlin to stare at him in bewilderment. Of all the things Arthur could have said, he had never expected those. The boy would never cease to surprise him. 

After he got over his shock, Merlin did his best to formulate an intelligible reply. 

“W-well, yeah. I mean. Yes? No, I mean, yes. She is very lovely. Not, I mean. Not my type, b-but if she were… I mean no! I…” fuck, he was bad at this. Huffing a breath of air while Arthur snickered lightly, smirking at his inelegant words, Merlin tried again. “I mean, yes. I think she’s a lovely woman. I can see why you’re in love with her. But I’m not after her, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s nice, but I know where her heart lies. And as I said. She’s not my type.”

Too female, Merlin wanted to say, but didn’t dare. 

Arthur sobered at his words, looking at him solemnly, eyes alight with understanding. Like he understood the words that Merlin had left unspoken. But no. He couldn’t. He’d hate him if he truly understood. 

“Yeah. She’s a great girl. I’m not sure about your words though. About knowing where her heart lies.” 

At Merlin’s confused look, Arthur shrugged, eyes darting over to Gwen, who remained none the wiser of their conversation, before he put his arms crossed on the table, head resting in the circle they made. He looked so forlorn in that moment that Merlin longed to hug him. 

“Gwen and I were always close. She was best friends with a girl my mother took in when we were young, even though she was the illegitimate child of my father’s. My sister, I guess. Her parents had been killed in one of the king’s retaliations and mother couldn’t bear to see her sent away to people who she didn’t know. Gwen would come over all the time to play with her, and at first, I never really noticed her. Then, when I was around ten, we just… grew closer. Pretty soon I realized I was madly in love with her. But… there was another.”

This was the most Arthur had ever spoken about himself, Merlin realized with a jolt. He usually was a very private person, answering Freya’s questions with succinct words; not rude, but short. He’d never heard the soft, wistful tone Arthur spoke with now. Part of him wanted to beg him to stop, his heart tearing at hearing the man he loved proclaiming his love for another. The majority was desperate to know more, to know everything about the man before him. To be his confidant, if he so desired. 

“He had arrived in town when we were all about twelve. Lancelot, is his name. He was definitely brave. I suppose I can see why she liked him. But I hated it. I challenged him often, even as he became friends with my friends. Eventually I grew to tolerate him, but I always hated how he took Gwen from me. They were never anything official, but he kept us from being anything, either. The three of us were locked in this awkward nebulous zone. It was agony. But now… now that I’m here and they are there… well. I wouldn’t blame her if she took comfort in him. He’s a good sort. He’d be a good husband to her.” 

Merlin ached for Arthur in that moment, the boy looking so sad that he wanted to wrap him up and never let go. To whisper soothing words into his ear. To tell him that, to him, no other could dare to compare. That, to him, only he existed. But Arthur wouldn’t want that. So he settled on pressing his foot against Arthur’s, as he leaned forward on the table, body angling towards the other boy almost against his will. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur. If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t even be stuck here right now. I…” Merlin’s throat stuck as a thought came to his head, realizing that he could make things right. If he could stop being so selfish for a goddamn minute. And so, even as his heart ached, he formulated the words he needed to say, heart breaking even though he knew it was the right thing. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want. Once we defeat the band of sorcerers. You could just… stay there. With Gwen. She loves you, I know she does. And father won’t mind if you leave now, he’s probably forgotten about your supposed reward. You could stay in Fayford with Gwen and be happy together. You deserve to be happy, Arthur.”

Arthur looked up sharply at that, eyes piecing as he stared at Merlin, teeth slightly bared. It made his heart beat fast. He hadn’t meant to offend the man. He had meant it in a good way. A noble way. Seemed like he screwed it up. Like always. 

“You think you can get rid of me that easy?” Arthur questioned, unwittingly parroting Merlin’s words from earlier, eyes narrowed. Merlin’s eyes widened, as he opened and closed him mouth. That wasn’t what he had meant! Not at all! 

He watched as Arthur smirked, a little meanly, foot pressing tight to his. 

“Well, I hate to break it to you, princess, but I’m not a quitter. This had never been what I intended, in life, but it’s not that bad. Now, at least. Besides, who will keep your large head from inflating so much you start floating around the room? It’s a trying task, but someone has to do it. And I, humbly, have accepted that challenge.” 

Arthur said it casually, like it was of no consequence. Like it was no big deal. But Merlin suddenly hated it. Hated the devotion he had done nothing to earn. Hated that he was keeping him here out of some sick form of obligation. After all, why would Arthur want to stay here, a servant, forced to be bullied around while in public by a prince he held no great affection for? Yes, they were friends, but Arthur had so many others. Why would he stay here if he didn’t feel obligated to? 

And so, before he could think twice about it, heart full of a sick emotion that made him feel almost drunk, Merlin stood, startling Arthur. His emotions were swirling so dangerously in his stomach and heart that he was sure he would burst if he didn’t do something to relieve them. He had made enough mistakes to last a lifetime. He had to make this right. To make Arthur see that he didn’t have to sacrifice. Not for him. After all. Merlin knew the misery of loving someone who loved someone else. He never wanted Arthur to have to feel like that. Ever. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he rounded the side of the table and pushed Arthur’s chair back, ignoring the wide eyed, startled glance, the yelped “Merlin!” He then knelt on the ground and looked up at Arthur, at his servant, and released the emotion he had been keeping inside for so long. 

He could never tell Arthur how he truly felt, having vowed to himself he never would. But this? This he could do. For Arthur. Perhaps, had he not been so strung out from his talk with his father, he wouldn’t have been desperate enough to dare to do this. But everything hurt and he wanted to do one good thing. To help at least one person he loved.

If you loved something. 

Let it go. 

“Arthur, I swear to you. You do not have to stay here. Please. Do not force yourself to suffer at my expense. I will be alright without you. You deserve to be happy. To have love and happiness and- and joy. You… you’re incredible, Arthur. Probably the most amazing person I have ever met. Don’t suffer because of me. Not when you could be happy elsewhere. Not when you have someone who is so much more deserving of your devotion.”

He said the words soft and low, eyes begging Arthur to heed him. To listen. To, for once, not take it as a joke or make light of his words. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words themselves, but he knew he was betraying himself too much, here. Arthur wasn’t an idiot. He had to know what Merlin meant. After all, Merlin was a prince. Prince’s didn’t kneel for anyone. Arthur had to know what he meant. He had to. 

And he would hate him, Merlin knew, heart pounding. Hate him for his foolish love. For the foolish prince who had fallen, so desperately, for his manservant. Hate him like he deserved to be hated. How could he not? Even his own father hated him. How could he ever expect anyone to care for him at all if he had driven even his father away? 

The room seemed suffocating in the silence that followed, no sound entering or exiting the bubble that Merlin had created for them. Distantly he knew that Gwen was still in the room, mere feet away, but in that moment the only two people in the world were him and Arthur. 

Arthur said nothing for long minutes, just stared down at his master, eyes wide, mouth open, breath fast and almost frantic. Merlin watched as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly at a loss for what to say. Merlin didn’t blame him. He just knelt there and waited for the sentence for his crime. The crime of daring to love another man. For daring to hope that he could be worth someone as utterly outstanding as Arthur. 

“Do you really mean that, Merlin?” 

The words were so soft that he barely heard them in the overwhelming silence. But he did. And, swallowing thickly, he nodded gravely. 

What followed was something that Merlin would later, when he looked back, not know if he was deathly grateful for or hated with a furious passion. 

At that moment, before Arthur could say anything more, could give his final decision, whatever it may be, that would make or break Merlin, the door slammed open, causing the bubble Merlin had created to pop abruptly as his concentration dropped, startled eyes darting to the door as he quickly stood and took several steps back. Regret flooded him as reality rushed back in and he realized how utterly stupid he was. God. No wonder his father thought he was such a disappointment. 

Of course luck was against him as his legs hit the edge of the settee awkwardly and he felt himself flail as he crashed to the ground, groaning as he landed hard on his arse. 

“Merlin!” He heard a familiar feminine voice cry, Freya’s worried face appearing in his frame of vision as she rushed over to help him up. “Are you alright?”

Heart pounding from both the fall and terror from what he had just done, not to mention the embarrassment from having fallen like a child, he let out a frantic laugh, trying to play the whole thing off. 

“Wha- Yeah, yeah, I’m fine! Totally fine. Never been more fine than I… you know, how are you, hmm? That’s what I wonder,” Merlin rambled, barely hearing his own words as his blood pounded so loud in his own ears. He didn’t dare chance a glance over at Arthur, knowing what he’d see and fearing it. He couldn’t take the disgust, the hatred. He couldn’t. 

Why couldn’t he have just kept it in? Why couldn’t he have been normal, telling Arthur how he was sorry and that he could leave if he wanted? Not making it into a huge dramatic declaration of his forever cursed love. Maybe he never said the words, but he knew the feeling had been dripping from him like blood from a wound. From the heart he was cursed to wear on his sleeve, bloody and open for the whole world to see. 

Freya said something to him, but he couldn’t hear. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure he was going to die, unable to catch his breath. Oh, God. Was this what dying felt like? He saw Gwen step into his line of vision, her eyes wide with worry too, mouth forming words he couldn’t hear. God, now he had worried her, too. He wanted so badly to just die in that moment. To drop dead so he didn’t have to face the consequences of his actions. He squeezed his eyes tight as he struggled to breathe, Freya’s arms wrapping around him, trying to soothe him. 

It wasn’t until he felt a warm, rough hand land on his back, not quite gentle but still oh so tender, that he opened his eyes again, frantic gaze falling on cerulean blues, the eyes warm and steady as he lost himself in them. 

“-breathe, Merlin, that’s it. Nice and easy. Just breathe. Don’t go fainting on me like a girl, now. It’s alright. You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”

The words were honest, though just a touch wooden, with eyes that were a little too distant for Merlin’s liking, but still trying to tell Merlin something that he couldn’t figure out. The panic was still thick in his chest. He still felt like he was about to die. Like he wanted to die. 

But…

But, like that day, three months ago, Merlin found himself following the command of the man in front of him. A man who would fit the role of prince far better than him. 

The first breath of air he took in was like a balm to his aching heart. As he took in a few more steady breaths, he could feel his racing heart calm down, Freya’s arms around him grounding him to reality, as did the warm hand that remained, steady, on his back. 

After a couple minutes Merlin’s breathing was back to normal, and he could almost pretend that nothing at all had happened. He knew he had to explain himself, to everyone. But he desperately didn’t want to. 

Luckily, Freya took over, talking about everything and nothing. She didn’t mention the plan, didn’t mention anything of importance. It was very careful and deliberate. It was with a jolt he realized that she probably thought his father had banned them from going and was trying to distract him. Licking his lips, he spoke slowly, interrupting the girl. 

“Father agreed to let us go. I mean. The king did. He’s giving us two horses and until the end of the month to return. Will Gaius be able to make you your potions by morning?” 

That made Freya pause, her eyes full of confusion, but she mercifully went along with it, not questioning him. He loved her for that. 

“O-oh. Yes! He said the potions should be done by tonight if I want them. He didn’t believe me when I told him of the pilgrimage, but he didn’t ask any questions. Is… I mean, did the king say anything else?”

Hm. Maybe he could pretend his father was the cause of his useless panic. It would get her to stop looking so confused. She was well aware of his problems with the king, having spent many nights soothing him as he cried uselessly about how much of a disappointment he was. 

“I just… I don’t know. Said something stupid to him as I left that I regret. That’s all,” he muttered, cheeks heating as he tried to play it off cool. 

Maybe there was a spell he could cast that would turn back time, and make it so he never acted like such a fool in front of Arthur? Or maybe a forgetfulness spell. Or…

Or not, he thought quietly, as Freya accepted his words with a compassionate hum, hugging him close. Maybe it was for the best. After all, it would make it easier for Arthur to decide to leave. Merlin would leave too if he were Arthur. Who on earth would want to hang around a person who was so weird? One minute fine, the next revealing all their deepest darkest secrets, and the next freaking out about it. He was mad, he felt. No one wanted to be around someone who was utterly mad. 

He felt empty as he slowly stood up, wincing at the pain in his backside. The air in the room was overwrought and fragile, like anything could break it. He felt most sorry for poor Gwen, who likely had no idea why the prince who had vowed to help her had just freaked out so badly. At least Freya thought she understood. Gwen was completely in the dark. 

And so, even though his heart was hurting so badly, he smiled and did what he did best. 

Played the fool to lighten the mood. 

He didn’t even really know what he said or did, just having done whatever he could to get the two girls to laugh. Would roll his eyes, would imitate nobles. Would act as foolish as he dared. And, eventually, it worked. Gwen and Freya laughed loudly at his antics, giggling as he grinned, eyes only slightly manic. The fragile feeling in the air dissipated as his act worked like magic. 

And if he didn’t dare to look over to the corner that Arthur had retreated into, silent as he watched Merlin’s desperate routine with piercing eyes, well. No one commented on it. 

It was something. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

Dinner that night was, understandably, awkward. 

Merlin had almost hoped that his father would cancel the meal like he sometimes did when busy, sending a servant to inform him that he and Lady Freya would be eating alone. But no such message arrived. 

And so, heart leaden in his chest, he walked with Freya down to the dining room, Arthur trailing behind them like a ghost. 

Gwen had parted ways with them at the staircase, saying it would be best for her to head back to Gaius’s rooms, Arthur having earlier invited her to stay in his room with him for the night. It had made Merlin sick to hear, but also strangely glad. At least Arthur had her. This all would have been worth it if Arthur could have Gwen in the end. 

As the solemn group entered the dining hall, Merlin didn’t have it him to pretend. Luckily, things as tense as they were between him and his servant, he was sure his father wasn’t getting the wrong (or right; he honestly didn’t know anymore) idea about their relationship. Freya exchanged quiet words with the king, the girl always so much better with his father than he was. Merlin sometimes wondered if his father would take the crown from him and hand it to Freya, one day. He clearly loved and respected her more. Merlin didn’t blame him. He did, too. 

He didn’t eat a single thing that was offered at the table, unable to find the appetite to eat. He knew Freya was worried about him, but she didn’t dare bring it up when his father was in the room. 

Being in his father’s presence just reminded him of the other mistake he had made that cursed day. 

To his surprise, his father brought up their upcoming pilgrimage to Freya, asking her if she felt she was prepared for the trek. Freya had smiled at him, saying how she was and how she was excited to join Merlin on the adventure. He had felt his father’s eyes on him at that, but he had refused to look up. He couldn’t. His father didn’t address him directly, so he felt like he was justified in his silence. If his father didn’t want to talk to him, then he didn’t want to talk to his father. Simple. 

Finally, the meal ended, Merlin standing as soon as his father gave his dismissal. However, it seemed his luck had not improved at all that cursed day, for his father called him back, voice leaving no room for argument as he requested an audience with his son, and his son alone. So Merlin watched with empty eyes as the dining hall emptied of all inhabitants, Freya glancing back with worry as she did. To his surprise, Arthur also glanced back, face a mask, but his eyes full of an indescribable emotion before he, too, exited. 

And then it was just him and his father. 

No one spoke for long minutes, the pair just existing in the same space together, Merlin with his eyes downcast and fists clenched at his sides, his father with his eyes boring holes into Merlin. Ordinarily Merlin would be vibrating out of his skin by then, anxious to get the meeting over with, but he felt too drained to care. This had been a trying day. He’d made a fool of himself not once, but twice. He was sure that was a new record. 

It was as the silence got stifling and suffocating that he heard his father sigh, that soft sigh he was known for, before the man stood and strode over to Merlin. Merlin, to his credit, didn’t retreat like he desperately wanted to. He had to face his mistakes like a man. His father had taught him that. 

“Merlin,” that deep, steady voice rumbled when he saw the deep, rich leather clad feet stop before him, the purple and blue cloak billowing around him. Merlin had always liked cloaks, he thoughts absently. They were dramatic and colorful. Like him, he supposed. 

“My son. Look at me.”

Well. He couldn’t defy a direct order from his king, now could he?

And so, heart pounding, sweat beading on his brow and dripping slowly down his spine, he looked up, hoping his whole heart wasn’t betraying him in his eyes. 

He had never seen his father look so soft, was the first thought he had upon seeing his father, so close, far closer than the older man had dared come in years. It was like he actually cared. But that was ridiculous. 

The second thought he had was that his father looked almost as tired as he felt. Like he was nearing the end of his rope. Merlin figured it made sense. Running a kingdom did that to a person. 

The last thought was that he could almost pretend that he saw what looked almost, maybe, like… regret. In the old, brown eyes. But that, too, was ridiculous. His father regretted nothing. He was just projecting feelings onto a statue again. He had to learn to stop doing that. 

“I think, perhaps, I have been unfair to you. These last few years have been hard, on us all. Ruling a kingdom is not as easy as it may seem, my boy. I have had to make hard decisions to keep our people safe. To keep magic alive. Everything I have done… everything I have created… it has all been for them. For us. So that we wouldn’t have to hide from little men who wished they could have even a fraction of the power we have. So that this world would be one we could all be safe to live in. Do you understand, my son?”

No. No, he didn’t understand. He had never understood, though his father had tried to explain time and time again. He pretended he did. Pretended he saw the enemies that his father saw in non-magical men, pretended he understood the danger involved. But he didn’t. Not truly. He knew his father only ever did what he thought was right, knew his father was a good man, deep down inside. But he couldn’t understand the death and the misery his father had created. Could never understand. 

He'd not seen the things his father had seen.

He said nothing as he stared at his father, willing his face to be a mask, to hide his lack of understanding. To hide his raging emotions. 

After a moment, his father sighed again, sounding so very weary. 

“But perhaps it is not our people I should be so focused on. Perhaps it should be you. You, my dearest son. My pride and joy. I fear that I’ve hurt you far more than I ever intended to. And for that, and that alone, I am deeply sorry.”

Merlin struggled to keep his face carefully blank even as his mind raced with thoughts. What was his father doing? What was he saying? Pride? Joy? Him? No. His father hated him. Hated him like he deserved for being so weak and pathetic. He had thought, once, that if he just honed his magic that his father would be proud of him. But all he had gotten was anger and hatred; his father getting more and more distant as Merlin grew more powerful. He had wondered if his father was jealous, or afraid of him, but that made no sense. Everything he did was for his father and for his kingdom. He’d never betray them. Ever. 

Merlin still said nothing. He didn’t know what he could possibly say in that moment. What did a person even say to their distant father who had finally told them he actually cared? What could they say? Nothing, Merlin figured. He’d just say something wrong. He always did. 

His father was looking at him expectantly, but he just stared back. After another moment, his father sighed a third time, eyes filling with what Merlin could almost pretend was sadness. His father took another step closer, so that they were toe to toe, his arms raising to do… something. They hovered uselessly in the air for a second and Merlin figured he was going to put them down without doing anything. His father hadn’t touched him kindly in years. Probably a decade, if he was being honest. Maybe… maybe longer. 

To his immense surprise, after the moment of hesitation, his father actually followed through and grasped Merlin tightly. It wasn’t a hug. But… it was more than he’d gotten in years. Merlin could feel tears rising in his eyes, but he didn’t dare let them fall. His father hated it when he cried. He wasn’t a baby. He was a man. If only he could act like it. 

“You are my son, Merlin. You have always been my son and you always will be. I am truly sorry if I ever made you doubt my love of you, or the pride I feel when I look at you. You will always be in my heart. Always. Everything I have done has been for this kingdom. For you. I hope one day you can finally understand that. I pray you can understand.”

Shit. Why was his father doing this, today of all days? When his emotions were already so raw and flayed? Merlin wished desperately he could be anywhere other than here. Maybe with Gaius, just the two of them, the kindly old man teaching him healing magic with gentle eyes. He hadn’t had the chance to spend much time with Gaius recently, now that his medical training was considered done, a fact he regretted deeply. 

He would never admit it, but sometimes he felt that Gaius was more his father than the king ever was. He certainly showed his affection better. 

But maybe he was being unfair. After all, he knew the pressure his father was under. Heavy lies the head that wears the crown, and all. Maybe he should try a bit harder with his father? After all. If the man was making the effort to try, maybe he should, too?

So, even though it felt like his heart was breaking into pieces, he tried his hardest to smile, eyes shining as he looked at his distant father. So close. 

And yet so far. 

“It’s alright, father. I-I understand that you’re doing your best. I know you’re doing all you can for the people of this kingdom. I understand.”

And he did, a little. Understood that his father was doing what he believed was right, regardless of if it actually was or not. 

His father smiled, then. An actual smile. Filled with warmth and love and everything. His father hadn’t smiled at him at all in years. He didn’t even remember the last time he had smiled at him with anything akin to warmth. It was making him feel weak. 

“Good. I’m glad. Enjoy your pilgrimage, my son. I’ll see to it that you and Freya have enough food to last ‘til the month ends. You should be back by then, however, as the snows are coming. Take some time for yourself. You have been working hard and you deserve some rest. And Merlin, please know that I am so very proud of the man you have become. Never forget that.”

And then. 

He felt arms around him. 

Warm. 

Steady. 

Like he was a child again. 

He could feel some stubborn tears start to fall, but he did his best to hide it in his father’s robe, clinging to the man as tight as he dared. He had no illusions that this would ever happen again. He was going to make the most of it while it lasted. While his father remained in this strange mood he had fallen into. Merlin couldn’t say he didn’t like it. 

The hug only lasted a couple of moments, but it felt like eternities had passed until his father let go, still smiling that tender smile. Eyes soft. It was so much like when he was younger that he desperately wanted to cry. But he reined it in, not wanting to make his father regret his words, and smiled back. 

After that, his father dismissed him warmly, and Merlin, knowing not to press his luck, almost fled from the room. He would have been concerned that his father was being ensorcelled, but he knew his magic would have felt it if the man was. Plus, and he was kind of ashamed to admit it, he didn’t really care if the man was. If being ensorcelled made him into the kind of man who cared about his son, well. Maybe it was for the better. 

When he reached his room, he was bone tired and so very worn down. He wanted to sleep for ages, but he knew he couldn’t. He had a quest to go on in the morning, to help save his love’s village, and then watch as said love left him for his love’s love. 

As he entered the room, his eyes fell on the tub that was placed by the fire, gentle steam billowing over it. Heart beating fast, Merlin quickly looked around, but knew that the rooms were empty. He would have felt it if someone were there. Still, he thought with a smile, removing his court robe with relief, it meant something. Maybe that something was that Arthur was a good servant who did his job well, maybe it was something more, but either way it was something. 

As he slipped into the too warm water, he let the tension of the day slip away. He scrubbed the sweat and dirt away lazily, eyes heavy as the warm water lulled him. He was careful to not fall asleep, knowing he didn’t have Arthur there to wake him, but he let himself relax and ignore his worries. 

When he finally finished and dressed himself in his night clothes, he slipped into his bed with a grateful groan, knowing he was going to miss his soft bed while on his ‘pilgrimage’. 

So. Maybe he had lost Arthur, his damned bleeding heart ruining the tentative friendship they had created. Maybe Arthur would hate him forever, thinking of him with disgust and revulsion. Maybe he’d lose Arthur forever once their task was done. 

But maybe. 

Just maybe. 

He had regained his father. 

Was that not worth it in the end? 

…

He honestly didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur, probably: Hey fellas, is it gay to play footsie with your master while spilling your deepest secrets to him, only for him to kneel before you and practically confess his undying love for you?? Fellas????
> 
> Aha. I hope this chapter didn't feel out of place or that Merlin wasn't too OOC or anything. I just wanted to show that he's under pressure and is kind of cracking with his emotions and his desire to be a good son to a man whose kind of... emotionally constipated. I do go into detail in later chapters as to why Balinor is so distant with Merlin, but I have laid the basis for that reason in past chapters, so y'all might be able to work it out yourselves. Regardless, everything with Balinor and his reason for being different from canon does get discussed later on, if it bothers anyone.


	9. A Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Internalized homophobia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> Next chapter, up. Just a warning, this chapter is mostly filler. No real plot happens, but characterization does happen. It's also a bit melodramatic, but tamer than the last chapter and ends happier for our duo. 
> 
> Next chapter is fun, though! The rest of the knights make an appearance. It's another emotional chapter, though. Oops. 
> 
> Now, I'm dead tired. -.- I worked with three energetic siblings today, who kept trying to hit each other. Who said girls were less violent than boys??? Also! Thanks for the 100 kudos, on AO3! I appreciate it!! <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Arthur stared blankly ahead as he carefully steered the horse along the path, paying only as much attention as he needed to get the group to Fayford and that was it. He could feel Gwen in his arms, a sensation that usually would have his blood heated with desire, but he felt distant from it, somehow. Detached. 

Despite his best efforts, all he could see in his mind’s eye was Merlin. Stupid, bleeding heart Merlin. With his soft face and his pleading eyes. Begging him to think of himself. So much emotion thick in the air that Arthur thought he would drown. 

Why? Why did Merlin have to do this to him? Arthur had finally accepted his destiny. Had agreed that he would do what he could to save his land. He still didn’t know how he could do it, or if he truly was able to do it, but with Merlin at his side? He had been willing to try. 

And then bloody _Mer_ lin had to do and fuck everything up. 

He had sounded so sincere. So heartfelt. Like he truly wanted Arthur to go and be with ‘the one he loved’. 

He wondered how Merlin could say such a thing if he truly was in love with him. Lord knew Arthur wouldn’t have been able to. He had tried, a couple times, to tell Gwen to be with Lancelot and forget him. But he had always failed, throat sticking on the words. If Merlin truly did love him, though, then how could the prince ask him to leave? He didn’t know. He was so confused. 

He tried to push the feeling down, to ignore the events of the previous day. But it kept coming back. Like a disease. 

He hadn’t needed this. Not now, when he was already so worried about his home. About his mother and his friends. Damn Merlin and his nobility. And his bleeding heart. 

Merlin wasn’t even looking at him at all. Arthur had done his duties that morning, waking Merlin with a blank expression, informing him that he had readied the horses, and had more than enough food packed for the four of them until they got to Fayford. Merlin had just nodded woodenly, eyes averted as he dressed in his riding gear. Arthur couldn’t help the way he stared, eyes roving the expanse of skin Merlin put on display, lingering on the newest scar received three months prior. He could see the flush on Merlin’s skin, knew he should look away but he just… couldn’t. 

Pathetic. 

After that Merlin had eaten his breakfast slowly, chewing like it tasted like sand. He left the majority of the meal on his plate when he stood, eyes averted, saying he was going to meet up with Freya downstairs and that he’d meet Arthur and Gwen in the forest outside the castle. They had decided that would be best, so that the king didn’t wonder why Merlin brought his servant while Freya left hers behind. Gaius had even made up a story that he had requested Arthur to take the time to gather some rare herbs in Mercia for him while Merlin was away, in case anyone asked. Not that anyone would. He was just a servant, who cared about him? 

Arthur had pushed down his worry for his friend (?) and had just nodded, eyes blank as he watched Merlin sweep out of the room. He had then taken several deep breaths before following, heading down to Gaius’s quarters to grab his supplies. 

He knew that Gaius and Gwen were concerned for him. When he had returned to the rooms after dinner, heart hurting more than it should have, he had seen the concern and care in Gaius’s eyes. He was sure the old man assumed it was worry for his village. 

_As it should be_ , he thought cruelly, scowl on his face. Honestly. Here his village was, being attacked by rogue sorcerers, and he was worried more about _Prince Merlin_. Oh, if only Gwaine were here. He’d laugh his head off. 

He should have been happy, after having spent the night with Gwen in his arms. He had at first tried to be noble, saying he’d sleep on the floor, but Gwen had reasoned there was barely enough room for the bed, and that he couldn’t possibly sleep on the floor. They were riding in the morning, he couldn’t be uncomfortable for the entire ride, besides. Gaius slept in the main room, so Arthur didn’t want to intrude more on the older man. In the end, it had been Gwen who had suggested it, face flushed in the dim light. He had put up a token protest, but the pair ended up settled against one another. 

It hadn’t been the first time they’d slept in the same bed. They had never gone all the way before, Arthur never daring to ruin Gwen’s virtue, but they had spent several nights kissing under the pale moon as they held one another close. 

It was different this time. Arthur didn’t even know why. Perhaps he was just tired. Or perhaps he just had too many things to worry about. 

But when he held her...

When he put his arms around her and pulled her flush to his body…

When she had let out a soft sound, almost like a moan but not quite…

He had felt nothing. 

It made his stomach roll just to think about it. He had never felt nothing when holding Gwen before. It was always something. A little flutter of butterflies. A twist of his heart. Something. Far from the nothing he had felt last night, as she fell asleep in his arms, back pressed to his front. 

Don’t get him wrong. He had _tried_. Tried to feel it. But he just… couldn’t. 

He was probably just tired, he reasoned. After all. He still loved Gwen dearly. He knew he did. He felt so happy to have her near him, to hear her sweet voice. He loved her. He had to love her. 

(And so what he felt more when he held Merlin, arms wrapping around the slighter boy, heart full to bursting as he breathed in the floral scent of the oil he had put in his bath? It meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. Especially now that Merlin wanted him gone.) 

Holding Gwen now, as he led them through the forest and towards his home, should be doing things to him. He should be struggling to stay composed, Gwen giving him flirty glances over her shoulder as he did his best to keep his groin away from her, to not offend her. But he didn’t feel even the slightest stir in his loins as he rode. Gwen just chatted amicably with Freya, not paying him any mind at all. He should hate that and be trying to keep her attention on him instead. 

Lord. 

What was wrong with him? 

He had to stop thinking about Merlin. The boy was messing with his head. This whole ‘destiny’ thing was messing with his head. He felt so wrong footed and unsettled. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t Merlin have just kept his thoughts to himself? Why had Arthur had to go and talk so softly about Gwen and Lancelot? See, this was why he always kept his emotions under wraps. It only ever led to pain and confusion.

He hadn’t been able to help it, though. He just felt so… well, _safe_ , around Merlin. Like he could tell the boy anything and not be judged. He had wanted, desperately in that moment, to express everything that he had always kept inside. To have Merlin know and understand. All that had happened, though, was he had made Merlin feel guilty. And with his guilt came his pleading words and subsequent panic. 

Gah! Stop thinking about bloody Merlin! 

Clenching his jaw, Arthur tightened his arms around Gwen, making the girl falter in her conversation with Freya. He watched as she looked back at him, eyelids fluttering a little as an attractive blush flooded her cheeks. There. This was what he wanted. This was what he found attractive. Gwen, with her soft curves and warm body. Not Merlin, who was all bony edges and gangly limbs. Who was also, may he point out, a man? Why was he even thinking about Merlin when he had soft, sweet Gwen? 

And so, he spent the next hour focused on Gwen, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, trying to muster up anything more than the hollow feeling inside as she giggled and flirted back. He resolutely ignored Merlin, who had begun to trail behind, far enough that he couldn’t hear Gwen’s giggles, but close enough that he wouldn’t lose sight of Arthur, who was the one who knew the way to go. 

When the group finally broke for lunch, Gwen and Freya chatting lightly again, Arthur kept his eyes on the dried meat Freya had handed him, an unreadable expression on her usually open face. Merlin had sat far away from the group, eyes trained on the ground, chewing slowly on the meat given him. Arthur most definitely did not sneak glances at the boy every so often, eyes seeking him out against his will, worry rising unbidden in his chest. 

He shouldn’t care so much about the man. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

But he did. 

“So, how much longer do you think it’ll take to get to Fayford?” He heard Freya question during a lull in her and Gwen’s conversation. Still, he startled as his attention was pulled from the meat he’d been glaring at, flushing lightly as all eyes landed on him. 

Well. 

Not all eyes. 

Not those blue eyes he most longed to see. 

(No! He couldn’t think things like that! What was wrong with him?) 

Clearing his throat, he looked up at Freya and gave her a strained smile. 

“If we make good ground, we should reach Fayford by midday tomorrow. We should probably make camp for the night before sundown, to be safe.” 

Freya smiled back at him and nodded. She stood and wandered over to Merlin, placing her hand gently on his shoulder, causing the boy to start drastically. Freya spoke soft words to him, which Merlin shrugged off. She didn’t leave, though, sitting next to him as the two finished their meal. Arthur definitely didn’t know this because he was watching the two. Definitely not. 

“So. You and Merlin. You both seem fairly… close,” Gwen stated minutes later, causing Arthur to tear his eyes from the prince, cheeks flushing when he heard the meaning hidden in Gwen’s words. 

“No, we’re not. He’s a pillock and a prat and I suffer every day I’m in his presence,” Arthur claimed meanly, rolling his eyes to punctuate his point. It was not exactly a lie, at least. Gwen snorted, though, rolling her eyes back. 

“Yes, I can see that,” she drawled, tone drier than a desert. He glared at her, wanting her to shut up. He couldn’t talk about this. He couldn’t. 

Unfortunately, Gwen didn’t seem to notice. Or care. She just pressed on, brown eyes staring at him with what he felt was accusation but was likely just worry. She was too kind to accuse him like he deserved. 

“I saw the way you act around him, Arthur. I’m not an idiot. I can see that you… that you care about him. More than you would toward a master you claim to detest.”

No. No, no. He wasn’t having this conversation. Jaw set and shoulders squared, Arthur made to stand and stomp away, probably over to the horses to ensure they were alright to travel, when he felt Gwen’s hand touch his forearm lightly. It stilled his motions, even as he began to breathe heavily. He prayed she would take mercy on him and just… _Stop_.

“Arthur. It’s okay. It’s okay. He- he seems to be a good sort. He was very kind to me even though he had no reason to be. And he clearly cares about you, Arthur. I see it in the way he looks at you. Like you hung the sun and moon. You… you look at him the same way. And I want you to know it’s okay. I’m okay with it. You don’t have to-“

“No,” he interrupted, stomach clenching as her words washed over him. God. Was he truly so transparent? Not that there was anything there! Gwen was wrong. She was _wrong_. She had to be. He loved her. Not...

“You’re wrong, Gwen. It’s not like that. We are friends. Nothing more. Maybe not even that. He wants me gone, so it doesn’t matter. Once we’re done with this, it’s been decided that I will stay in Fayford. It’s for the best.”

He ignored how his stomach clenched at the words. How everything in him screamed that it was wrong. His destiny wasn’t in Fayford.

Well. Fuck destiny. What had destiny ever done for him? All it had given him was pain and sorrow. Tore him from the ones he loved and made him doubt everything, even himself. 

He missed his mother. He missed his friends. He even missed the fields, the hours spent toiling under the hot sun, back breaking as he plowed the fields. He once would have given anything to never have to plow those damned fields. Now he missed it so fiercely. Life was simpler back then. He was simpler. 

“Oh, Arthur,” Gwen breathed, voice full of sympathy and compassion. Like she thought he was broken up over the thought. Well, she was wrong. He felt the opposite. He was bloody overjoyed at the thought of leaving _Mer_ lin, of leaving the castle, and Gaius, and…

His breathing stuttered as he tried to remove the stone that had settled in his stomach. 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. He adores you, I know he does. He probably just said something he didn’t mean. I’m sure if you spoke to him, he’d take it back. I’m sure he doesn’t actually want you gone.”

“Well, dear Guinevere, that’s where you are wrong. He doesn’t want me around and that’s just fine! I don’t want him, I have never wanted him, and I’ll be bloody just fine without him! In fact, I cannot wait to finish this whole bloody quest so that I never have to see that bastard’s face again! So kindly, shove off!”

Maybe if he said it loud enough, he could make it true through sheer force alone. Maybe if he pretended hard enough that Merlin wanted to send him away out of anger and not love, then this wouldn’t hurt so badly. Maybe. 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized just how loud he had been shouting until he heard the telltale sound of a ragged breath being taken in, making his heart plummet despite him. Spinning around, Arthur could only watch as Merlin dashed away, mumbling something about taking care of business. Silence reigned as the remaining three just stared at one another, before Freya turned furious eyes on him. 

Shit, he thought frantically, scrambling to stand as the slight girl stormed over, face a thundercloud. Arthur prided himself on being a brave man, but he’d known enough furious women in his young life to know that a man didn’t stand a chance when she got her teeth into him. 

“What on earth is your bloody problem?!” Freya snarled, eyes flashing gold as the leaves on the ground began to shake. Arthur couldn’t feel her magic like he could feel Merlin’s, but he had a feeling hers was crackling around her, like Merlin’s did in his anger. Arthur could only stare, eyes wide, as she stalked forward and pressed an accusing finger to his chest. He had never seen the usually kind girl so furious before. It would have been hot had he not been so afraid. 

(Or so far gone on Merlin.)

(He ignored that thought.)

“I don’t care what is going on between the two of you. I know Merlin can be a dunce sometimes and say harsh things. But I will not stand by as you hurt him like this. You hear me? Fix this, now. Or I will end you.” 

Christ she was scary when she wanted to be. He could see why the other servants were wary of her sometimes. She was formidable when she was pissed. 

With that, she stormed off, grabbing Gwen as she did so. It was in the opposite direction of where Merlin had gone, so he figured they were going to plot or something. 

He stood there in the middle of their temporary camp, mentally revising his estimate of how long it would take them to get to Fayford. 

After a few moments, when none of his traveling companions returned, Arthur couldn’t help the guilt that began to niggle in his mind. 

He hadn’t meant to hurt Merlin. That was the last thing he had wanted. He had just wanted Gwen to leave him alone. To realize that he meant it when he said they were nothing. That they could only ever _be_ nothing. He hadn’t intended to be so loud that Merlin heard him. He hadn’t intended to hurt him. 

Well. Maybe he hadn’t hurt the other man? Maybe Merlin really did just have to relieve himself and had just chosen that moment to do so. 

Yeah, he mentally snorted. And pigs could fly. 

Still, as the minutes passed and the prince didn’t return, he couldn’t help the guilt that steadily increased until he couldn’t think about anything else. 

Finally, as the guilt increased so much he could barely breathe, he gritted his teeth and stormed off into the direction he has seen Merlin stumble off in. 

Fine. Fine! He wasn’t so much of a jerk that he couldn’t see when he had to be the bigger man and apologize. Sure, he still had no idea what to say to Merlin after his outburst the day before, but that didn’t mean he could act like an arse. He’d just have to apologize, say he hadn’t meant it, and move on. Yes. Good. Grand. 

As he walked, he kept an eye out for signs that Merlin had gone this way. Luckily (or not) the boy had been too distressed to hide his tracks well, the branches and greenery trampled where the boy had fled. Arthur had his father’s sword on his belt, a fact that gave him comfort as he went further off the trail and into the darkening woods. 

After long minutes of walking, wherein Arthur wondered if he shouldn’t turn back lest he make things worse, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. Rushing forward as quietly as he could, he entered a clearing and stared in horror at the sight before him. 

Sitting on the ground, crumpled in a heap, was Merlin. And, though he clearly was trying to stifle it, he was sobbing fiercely. 

Shit. Shit, shit. Shit. 

He hadn’t intended on making the boy cry. Sure, Merlin was an emotional sort, always so in-tune with his emotions, but he rarely actually cried. Not around him, at least. Not full on sobs, wracking his thin frame as he tried to keep them down. The last time he had seen Merlin cry was when he had thought Arthur had died. Even then it had just been near dried tear-tracks on his face, almost an afterthought. Not full on sobs like this.

It hurt him to see. To know his words had caused this. He now fully understood Freya’s anger towards him. He felt angry with himself, too. 

He hated emotions and emotional talks. But he was enough of a man to know when he had to own up to his mistakes. And when to make things right. 

So, heart pounding, Arthur quietly walked forward, not wanting to startle the other boy. He managed to get within a handful of feet of the boy before he stepped on a loud twig, causing Merlin’s head to snap up as his magic pulsed around him. The medallion he still wore on his chest flared hot, indicating that it had protected him from a low-level spell. Huh. Guess the thing worked even against Merlin, himself. Nice to know. 

“A-Arthur!” Merlin cried, scrambling up as he scrubbed his eyes harshly, trying to erase the evidence of his shame. But Arthur had already seen him crying. And not even Merlin could erase the bloodshot eyes or the misery they held. 

“Hey,” Arthur said softly, taking a step closer to the trembling prince. It hurt him when Merlin took a hasty step back, like he was afraid Arthur was going to hurt him. He put his hands up in a sign for peace, hoping it would still the boy’s retreat. 

“Please. Just, let me talk. Please?” He practically begged, yearning to make things right. Things were so messed up between them. To think just two days before they were content in their newfound routine. Now they were like this. It wasn’t fair. 

“I-it’s okay, Arthur. You don’t have to say anything. I get it, alright? I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay.”

“No, it bloody is not!” Arthur snapped, regretting it immediately when Merlin flinched back, arms unconsciously rising up to protect his face. Like he thought Arthur would hit him. He felt sick. He took a soft step forward, hating how Merlin trembled before him. 

“It’s not okay, Merlin. You… I didn’t mean it. What I said. I didn’t mean it.”

He had tried to make his words soft, but it seemed he managed to make them sappy, too. He was cringing inside at the emotional conversation, but knew he had to do it. He couldn’t let Merlin go on thinking he had meant the words. He hadn’t. 

“Yeah, you did,” was the toneless reply, Merlin completely shutting down as he said it. His eyes shuttered and his mouth thinned into a thin line. It hurt Arthur somewhere deep inside his soul to see. “But it’s okay, Arthur. I get it. I don’t blame you. I understand why you hate me. And I swear. I swear that once this is over, you’ll never have to see me again. It’s the least I can do after all I’ve done to hurt you.”

Arthur was at a loss for words. Merlin had set his jaw and his eyes were hard as he glared at the trees, but there was a strange sorrow in his words as he said it. Like it pained him deeply to say. Like he was burning his own soul. 

Great. Now Arthur was being pathetically poetic. Christ, this had to end. 

“Look. Merlin. I…”

Arthur stopped after that, struggling to find the right words. He could see Merlin pulling away, could see him resigning himself to this fate. And suddenly, Arthur realized he couldn’t bear the thought of it. Couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him. Destiny, bond, whatever it was. It was making him ache inside at the prospect of leaving Merlin. So, he took a deep breath. And crossed the remaining feet that separated them. 

The shocked look in Merlin’s eyes was almost worth the mortification Arthur felt as his hands, not listening to his brain whatsoever, rose to cup Merlin’s hollow cheeks. He had thought about doing something like this for ages, absently, late at night when he was almost asleep. Thought how it would feel like, to hold the soft looking cheeks in his hands, to feel those sharp, regal cheekbones against his calloused palm. He had never given into the damned desire, feeling far too girly whenever he thought it, but he realized it was nice. To hold Merlin this way. To feel the slight stubble at the prince’s jaw scrape against his palm. Unconsciously, he rubbed his right thumb against Merlin’s cheek, right beneath his eye, causing the boy to release a shaky breath. 

“I don’t think you understand, Merlin. I don’t hate you. I don’t want to never see you again. In fact, I feel rather the opposite. I don’t know what I want to do once this is all over with. But I know that it wouldn’t be easy, to leave you. It would never be easy.” 

Fuck. He might as well hand over his balls now and be done with it. He was officially turning into a girl. Merlin was turning him into a bloody girl. 

He felt his inside squirming as he said the words, but he knew they were true. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. On one hand, he yearned for home, for his mother and his friends. He even sometimes missed his half-sister, though that depended on the day. On the other…

As he stared deep into Merlin’s blue eyes, flecks of gold swirling within them, reminding him of the power they held, he realized he’d miss Merlin with a passion if he left him, too. That he’d yearn for the boy as fiercely as he yearned for home. 

(Perhaps more so, he felt.) 

He didn’t know what to do. What he felt. If any of it was real or if it was just their supposed _destiny_ that was playing tricks with his head. He knew he didn’t love Merlin. Couldn’t love Merlin. Not like that. 

But…

But… if Merlin had been female. If the prince had been a princess, had he felt this way for him- _her_ \- then? Had he had these thoughts and feelings about a woman, instead of a man?

He knew he would be madly in love. 

What did that say about him, he wondered? That he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if Merlin had been born a girl that he’d love _her_ so fiercely? Did it mean anything at all? Or did all men feel like that? He never had a real father figure in his life, outside of perhaps Tom or his uncles when he was younger. He didn’t know that much about what a real man was supposed to act like. Well... he did have Gaius, now. Gaius, who acted like the father he’d never had, who seemed to genuinely care about him, who didn’t mind if he cried like a child.

Gaius… Huh. That was another thing he’d miss if he stayed at home, he realized with a jolt. He’d miss Gaius and his compassion, the talks they had during breakfast and dinner each day. The easy camaraderie they had fallen into. The warm hearth raging in the small quarters, the scent of chemicals and herbs thick in the air as Gaius laughed at the stupid jokes he told, feeling so warm inside. 

It seemed, while he hadn’t been looking, he had made himself a nice little home in Camelot. 

And now he was conflicted. Which home did he choose? The one he had grown up in, that was familiar and old and reliable? Or the one he had created, that was exhilarating and terrifying and _new_? He had taken it for granted that he was going to stay in Camelot. But why? Because of his Destiny? What did that even mean? Now that he thought about it, he supposed he had a choice. But what did he choose? Christ. He had no idea.

Merlin startled him out of his reverie when he placed gentle hands atop Arthur’s now shaking ones, pressing them farther against the prince’s cheeks. A tear escaped from the prince’s eye, and Arthur felt his thumb move as he wiped it away. It was uncomfortably tender. 

“Okay, Arthur. O-okay. I believe you. I just… I wouldn’t blame you. If you wanted to stay. Whatever you decide, know that I support you. One hundred percent. And I could never hate you. Never.” 

Arthur felt it then. It rose in his chest so swiftly he almost gasped, eyes wide as the sensation washed over him. 

He wanted so badly to kiss Merlin. 

To press his lips to the chapped, dry, prettily pink ones before him. To feel the pressure as he pressed Merlin back, back, back, until he was pressed against a tree, so that Arthur could press against him fully and truly. To taste the likely sweet taste of Merlin’s mouth, the warm heat devastating him as they battled for dominance. Or maybe Merlin wouldn’t fight him. Maybe Merlin would give in, would let Arthur win as he explored that beautiful mouth, as he took, took, _took_. 

The desire that swept through him at the thought was overwhelming. He nearly gave in, swaying forward as he stared at those too pink lips. 

But then reality came rushing back. 

Quick, like he had been scalded, Arthur scrambled back, eyes wide and chest heaving as he tried to control himself. He had no idea where that desire had come from. No idea why he had felt it so keenly. 

It must be the confusion getting to him, he thought faintly, as he watched Merlin blush so deeply that he would have been concerned had he not been so mortified himself. It must be a result of all the emotions swirling within him, his heart more confused than it had ever been before. He had learned not three months prior that he was destined to be the king of these lands, the Once and Future King, to be exact. That he would rule with Merlin by his side. Of course he was confused. Anyone would be, if they had been told they were destined to be by another person’s side for all time. He had finally learned what the “Once and Future” part meant, now, having asked the Dragon once. The bastard had laughed at him, but had explained it meant that one day, in the future, he’d be reincarnated when Albion needed him most. And Merlin would find him, then, like he had found Merlin here. They were to be united not only in this life, but the next as well. 

Who wouldn’t be confused when they were told such things?

Because that was all it was. Confusion. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. 

So, clearing his throat, he smiled weakly at Merlin, the prince smiling weakly back. 

“So. Are we, you know. Good? Because, I have to say, your sister is fucking terrifying when she’s pissed. And I rather like my balls attached, thanks ever so.” 

The whole thing had almost been worth it, he figured absently, to hear Merlin’s bell like laugh ring out into the silent clearing. And the soft smile he gave, the tender look in his eyes as he stared at Arthur… hm. It certainly was something. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re good, Arthur. And I have always said that people should be more cautious of Freya. She’s deadly.”

With that, the pair of boys wandered back to their temporary campsite, chatting lightly, teasing one another. Like usual. 

It shouldn’t have made him feel so warm inside, he figured, as they found the horses where they had left them, the girls still missing as they plotted. He shouldn’t have felt so happy to know that Merlin and he were no longer at odds. He shouldn’t have felt like the weight of the world had been lifted, shouldn’t have felt so light and free when Merlin would look over at him with that dopey smile of his as they packed up the horses to move on. 

Shouldn’t. 

But he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Hey guys!! So, someone commented something on this chapter and I really wanted to address it here, so y'all can see it. 
> 
> Basically, someone mentioned how Arthur is kind of being all hot and cold, and as such is hurting Merlin. I just wanted to say that I completely get why it seems that way and why it can be frustrating to read, but I never really meant it to be seen that way. Arthur is just... really struggling. Trying to figure out who he is, what he wants, what he feels, etc. He's not trying to hurt Merlin (and what's hurting Merlin is less "Arthur," and more his own insecurity, what with his father and all), but he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings. I had hoped that had come through my writing, without me outright saying it, but I guess perhaps not. The problem with my writing is that I write in, kind of... well, it's third person view, but it's told from the perspective of the character. Kind of like their inner thoughts, almost. So I can't outright say, "Arthur is struggling because of his fighting with his internalized homophobia, not to mention the fact he's suppressed his emotions so far it's a wonder he's able to feel anything at all," ya feel me? Because he doesn't know that. And I'm a bit, well... limited, as a writer. So, I don't know how to make this clear, using only allusion. 
> 
> ANYWAY, I just wanted to clarify. Arthur isn't trying to be cruel, or hot and cold. He's just confused and doesn't know what he's feeling. He does figure it out soon, though! Before heading back to Camelot, he figures out his feelings. We still have a ways before the idiots make a move, but we no longer have Arthur's resistance. I grew tired of that, too, to tell you the truth, aha. But there's still a little while to go before that, even, so hold on. Things get worse before they can get better. But they do get better, eventually. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments, all! I do love to read them, and am always willing to explain myself if you're ever confused or frustrated. :-)


	10. The Moment of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, up. 
> 
> We finally get to meet Arthur's friends! And Gwaine ;-) Just, uh... a warning. Things don't go exactly as planned in this chapter. Oh, they go exactly as I planned, but, well... I'll explain more in the end notes. :-) 
> 
> Enjoy!

Fuck his life. 

When had life gotten so weird? When had he entered into one of those blasted romance novels that Freya loved to read, shamelessly? God. 

It was the next day, following Arthur’s outburst, his subsequent fit of tears, and Arthur’s bloody perfect apology. It was exhausting. He had gone through so many emotions in the last few days that he wasn’t sure he could take anymore. From happy, to devastated, to confused, to in love, to confused again; back and forth and back and forth. He was like that weapon he’d seen a picture of once, yanked back and forth on a string. If someone could die of emotional whiplash, he was sure he would be a dead man soon. 

Things were good at the moment, at least. He was currently on the horse he typically used on outings, Buttercup, Freya chattering to Gwen and Arthur in front of him. After she and the other girl had returned from wherever the hell they had vanished to, it had taken him a little while to convince her that he had forgiven Arthur and that they had made up, but once she accepted it she had been as friendly towards the other boy as ever. Arthur was still a little wary around her, but that was to be expected. It probably didn’t help that he had seen her transform for the first time that night, eyes wide as he first saw the giant cat like creature she was cursed to become at midnight. Luckily, he calmed down quickly after, shrugging and saying he thought her pelt was very beautiful. Merlin appreciated it more than he could say.

Gwen had been sleeping at the time, so she hadn’t seen the transformation, which Merlin knew Freya was glad for. She didn’t like people to see her when she was like that. Now that she had her potion, she no longer felt forced to kill during the night, but it was still traumatic, he knew. He wished he could cure her, but even Gaius hadn’t been able to find a cure, just a treatment. It was like lycanthropy, Gaius had explained once, no cure available once cursed. At least the treatment existed. He would have hated to have her locked in the dungeon each night to protect her from herself. 

Anyway. They were all friendly once again, the entire group participating in the conversation, unlike the previous day when Gwen and Freya were trying desperately hard to keep the strained mood light. It was better now, all four laughing and chatting happily. 

Merlin didn’t like the looks that Freya and Gwen shot each other every time he and Arthur spoke, though. Why were they looking so mysteriously at one another just because Merlin had teased Arthur about the fact he had rode into a tree and had leaves stuck in his hair? Or when Arthur had shoved him aside when they had eaten breakfast, laughing at the spluttering sound of upset that Merlin made at the rough treatment, claiming treason? It was just things that friends did. 

Right? 

Right. 

Maybe. 

Alright. So maybe Merlin wasn’t the best gauge of how male friendship was supposed to work. The only male friend he had ever had, had been Will. And their relationship had seemed normal enough. Sure, they never touched as much as he and Arthur touched. But maybe Arthur was just a tactile person? Will had always been teasing him, though, so that was probably normal. Right? 

He had no idea. 

There had been a moment the day before. A moment he was trying hard to forget and ignore as it was doing weird things to his insides. 

A moment when he had been so sure. So very, very sure. That Arthur was about to... Well. 

Kiss him. 

But! That was ridiculous! Arthur was straight. Arthur loved Gwen. He had spent the entire ride in the morning the day before holding Gwen close and flirting with her mercilessly. It had made Merlin sick with jealousy, so he had purposely lagged behind, Freya kindly not mentioning it, though she had sometimes given him soft, sympathetic looks. 

And so maybe Arthur had stopped doing that now that things were better between them, but that meant nothing. 

Because Arthur was straight. Painfully straight. He was masculine and manly and brave and true. He wasn’t like him. He didn’t… _swim on the same side of the stream_ , as that bastard had once said. 

“We’re almost there,” a voice called from in front, startling him. He looked at Arthur, who suddenly looked very excited as he looked up at the mountains they were steadily riding towards. They had left the forest a couple hours before, riding on an old dirt road beside fields of grain that were starting to die as winter approached. Now they were headed towards some mountains in the distance, which were steadily getting closer. 

Merlin grinned in response, shaking off his confusing thoughts as he spurred Buttercup forward to move a little faster. He couldn’t (or rather wouldn’t) take her into a gallop, since she had a heavier load than usual, but they entered into a brisk trot as Gwen told them about their little village. How it had once been a very tiny village, barely a mark on a map, before the Purge caused a lot more people to flee to its relative safety. It was nowhere near a giant town, not even big enough for an inn, but it had more than enough people, a couple hundred or so. But even with all their numbers, they didn’t have the ability to fight back against magic users. Their one mage had left the town a few years ago to learn more about her power and only visited every few months. Even still, one mage wouldn’t have been enough against twenty sorcerers. 

Well, Merlin thought smugly, maybe not a normal mage. He said the same thing aloud, causing Arthur to laugh heartily. 

“I swear, _Mer_ lin. Your head is going to get so big you won’t fit on your horse one day.”

“Will you ever be nice to me? I’m helping you, you know. You could be nice to me for just this once.”

Arthur paused and pretended to think. 

“Nah, don’t think I will. Wouldn’t want you to get too big a head, would we? It would ruin your pretty features.”

Hm. Well. He was sure that that was just something male friends said to one another. Saying their male friend had pretty features. Just. Normal male things. Boys being boys, dudes being dudes. That sort of thing. 

Still, Gwen and Freya exchanged that Look of theirs again, making Merlin change the topic of conversation quickly. 

“So, Gwen. Tell me about your job again?”

They rode past the time they normally would have stopped for lunch, Arthur claiming they were almost there, and they could just eat when they got there. He didn’t say it, but Merlin knew he was anxious to get home. He didn’t blame him. He was sure he’d be anxious to get back to the idealistic village that Gwen and Arthur spoke so fondly of. 

Now, Merlin knew it probably wasn’t as amazing as the pair made it out to be. Merlin knew that Arthur had hated plowing the field with a passion, having complained about it all the time when they had been alone in his rooms. But the closer they got, the lighter Arthur seemed to get. The tension he had somehow been carrying melted away and a soft smile lighted his face. He looked beautiful, Merlin thought privately, his own soft smile on his face. 

It was just as Merlin’s stomach started to growl and he was thinking about the best way to politely request they stop for lunch, when Arthur let out a loud cry. 

“We’re here!” 

And, as they rounded the bend, the field of wheat gave way to the sight of a small town in the distance. Excited, Arthur spurred Freya’s horse faster, the poor mare running at near a gallop. Not wanting to be left behind, Merlin spurred Buttercup on, mentally promising to give her carrots and a nice rub down later to apologize for the rough behavior. 

It took them ten minutes to ride into the village proper, Arthur grinning down at the faces that popped out of houses to welcome him and Gwen home. 

“Arthur! You bastard! I thought I told you to never show your face around here again!” A gruff voice cried out, making Merlin’s heart stop. Arthur hadn’t mentioned having any enemies, had he?

Before he could build his magic up in a barrier around the four of them, he heard Arthur laugh heartily, eyes alight as he dismounted the horse, a man running up to him with a large grin. Merlin watched as Arthur hugged the man, one of those manly back slap type hugs, not like the ones he and Arthur shared. 

“Gwaine! You prat! Is that all you have to say after three and a half months?! And here I was thinking you’d be pining after me. I’m offended!”

The man, Gwaine he supposed, just laughed uproariously, and turned to Gwen, helping her get off. 

“I was more pining after the lovely Ms. Gwen, not your ugly face. I feel sorry for her, having to be stuck with you. And another thing, where did you get a horse? Stealing again, hm? And here I was, thinking you were too good for that sort of thing, princess.” 

Merlin shifted awkwardly on Buttercup, not really sure what to do. What was the protocol here? Did he introduce himself? Did he get off the horse too? Did he do nothing and just slink awkwardly away into the night, never to be seen again? He really wished he had a rule guide, here. 

Luckily, before he could keep panicking internally, Arthur’s friend Gwaine looked back at them and raised an eyebrow. 

“And now, who is this lovely young lady? Arthur, you cur. Withholding on me, now? Hello, my beautiful lady. My name is Gwaine, aka the handsomest and most charming man in this village. Might I be honored to know the name of such a fair maiden, my beautiful lady?” 

Freya laughed at that, shaking her head. Now that Merlin knew where her preferences lied, he realized it was a lot funnier to watch men fall all over her. He dismounted and helped his pseudo sister down, grin on his face. 

“And what am I, chopped liver? Arthur, your friend wounds me.” 

Gwaine’s eyes trailed over to him, a smirk lighting his face as he noticed Merlin. 

“Why, I wouldn’t wish to offend such a handsome young gentleman, my apologies. Perhaps I can take you somewhere private and make it up for you, my lord?”

Now Merlin was blushing, the roguish man giving him a rakish wink, before trailing his eyes up and down Merlin’s body slow and steady. He heard Freya laugh again, and he knew he was going to be teased so mercilessly that night. Still, if Gwaine was being truthful…

“Ignore him. He’s a terrible flirt. Why did you have to be the first person we happened to see, huh? You’re giving my friends a bad impression of our village. I swear, we’re not all this bad.”

Merlin wouldn’t have complained if they were, if he were being honest. While he may be madly in love with Arthur and unlikely to ever stop being so, he did still have eyes. And Gwaine… well. He was a very attractive man; Merlin could admit that, as his eyes roved up and down the toned body, causing Gwaine to smirk smugly at him and wink. 

Gwaine chuckled, then, and shook his head. 

“They should be honored to have such a welcoming party! Not everyone gets to see a face as lovely and ruggedly handsome as mine. Anyway, I’m guessing Gwen here has told you about our predicament? I told her that we could handle it, but she begged us to reconsider. And really, who could disappoint such a lovely lady?” 

With that, Arthur’s face closed off, reminded of the reason they were there. Merlin had a second to mourn the loss of the carefree joy that had been on Arthur’s face. He had looked breathtaking. 

“Right. That. Where are the others, then? We need to go over our plan with them.”

With that, Arthur walked away, leading Freya’s horse behind him to a post that he tied her to. Merlin followed suit with Buttercup, patting her several times, whispering a promise to give her her carrots later when he returned. Arthur gave him a look at that and rolled his eyes. Merlin just stuck his tongue out at him, wrinkling his nose in mock offense. Gwaine noticed, his eyes lighting up as he watched, but Arthur grabbed his arm and dragged him away before he could say anything. 

After that was a blur, Arthur being called out to so often as they walked through the village that Merlin could see that he was clearly very popular and well loved. Understandable. Arthur had that air about him; one of someone who deserved love and adoration. And most definitely loyalty. 

Finally, they stopped before a house, their numbers having grown substantially in their trek. They now had roughly eight men slash boys (some looked relatively young, he noted) surrounding them, one of whom was apparently Gwen’s older brother. He couldn’t recall anyone’s name, but they all seemed friendly enough. 

Arthur stood before the door of the house for long moments, just staring, breathing heavy. Merlin was about to ask what the matter was when Gwen put her hand on his arm softly. 

“Go on, Arthur. She’s missed you dearly. Go to her.”

With that, Arthur took in a deep breath and nodded, opening the door with shaking hands. 

As he entered, he could smell the scent of roast chicken, delicious and tender, making his mouth water.

Standing before a small fireplace was an older looking woman with fine golden hair. As the group entered, she turned and smiled softly. When her eyes landed on Arthur, however, she gasped and dropped the spoon she had been holding, tears gathering as she rushed forward, thin arms wrapping right around the boy. Arthur let out a sound that Merlin couldn’t describe, before his arms wrapped tight around the woman, hiding his face in her golden hair. 

“Arthur,” the woman breathed, voice thick with tears and happiness. “My son. Welcome home.”

Oh. His mother. 

Merlin felt his throat getting tight as he saw the reunion, eyes watering. He’d never known his mother, but he liked to think she would have been like the woman he saw before him. Kind and soft, looking at her son with so much tenderness that Merlin had to look away. It didn’t feel right to intrude on such a moment. He could tell the men around him felt similarly, eyes averted as the mother and son reunited. 

After several long minutes, the pair disentangled, though the smiles didn’t leave their faces as Arthur’s mother, Ygraine Merlin thought her name was, gestured for the group to sit around the minuscule living area. It was almost funny, watching ten grown men and two grown women try and navigate the living area while Ygraine went back to her cooking. 

“Mum, why are you here?” Arthur suddenly asked, eyes narrowing as he looked up at her from the table he was seated at, pressed tightly against Merlin’s side. Merlin was trying hard to not pass out from the closeness and did his best to focus on the conversation. 

He watched as Ygraine hesitated, standing up from her previous hunched position over the meal she had prepared. 

“Ah. Well, I was wondering how have you been, my son? I’ve received your letters. I’m sorry that your job with the prince is not going so well. I do thank you for sending your gold along, but I’ve told you, Arthur, that it’s fine. I don’t-“

“Mum. Why are you here?” Arthur repeated, cutting his mother off. Rudely, in Merlin’s opinion. 

Ygraine just sighed, shaking her head. 

“It’s not a big deal, Arthur. I just… well. The inn in Magegrave had no need of a chef any longer as they decided to downgrade a bit. It was no one’s fault, though, so please don’t be upset. I’ve been working at the apothecary here in town since. The pay is not as great, but it does give me more time off.”

Merlin felt Arthur tense next to him, eyes flashing with anger. Without thinking, Merlin touched the back of Arthur’s hand with soft fingers, not sure what he meant to do but just going with his instincts. Arthur started at the touch, eyes darting over to him, but the tension that had been mounting thankfully started to bleed out of him slowly. He felt more than heard Arthur sigh as he shook his head. 

“They’re fools. You were the reason for half of their business. They’ll be out of business by the new year, I guarantee it.” 

Ygraine hummed softly, smiling at him over the crowd of people before she started to hand out the food she had prepared. 

The following few moments were chaotic as the men started to shout to one another, all clamoring to be the first to get fed. It seemed to be a common occurrence, as Ygraine just chuckled, using her spoon to hit the backs of wandering hands. She had apparently made a roast chicken with a side of vegetable stew. The chicken was a bit too small to be shared equally amongst the large group, the woman clearly not having expected to feed quite so many mouths, but they managed just fine. Merlin happily dug into the soup that Arthur passed him with a faint smile on his face, Merlin smiling softly back with a light blush on his cheeks. 

“Thank you, Lady Du Bois. It’s as lovely as always,” one of Arthur’s friends said, bowing his head in Ygraine’s direction. Merlin thought his name may have been… Leo? Lion? Something like that. Arthur had said that introductions would wait until they were all at his house, thinking it would be best to get it over with all at once rather than over and over again. 

“Yes, as lovely as you are, my Lady. Like a flower in full bloom, as beautiful and splendid as a rose, more decadent than-“ 

“Bugger off Gwaine! We’re trying to eat!” 

The other men jeered at that, one of them throwing a piece of bread at Gwaine, who was holding his chest in mock offense. 

Merlin didn’t know what to think. He had always been a friendly person, the people of the town seeming to enjoy his presence. But he’d never had friends. Not like Arthur did. He didn’t know the protocol for dealing with a group of rowdy young men that he didn’t know, whilst crammed into a small living space. He felt awkward and small. It was almost funny. He was a prince. He shouldn’t feel so insignificant. 

As he unconsciously shrunk down, appetite waning as he felt so lost and left out, he felt a warm hand clasp around his own, fingers interlacing with his. Eyes wide, he looked up at Arthur, but the man wasn’t looking at him. He was instead jeering at one of his numerous friends, bickering about something or other. The only indication that he was doing something odd was the way his ears and cheeks burned bright red. It was so crowded, though, that he doubted anyone noticed either the flush or the fact that their hands were clasped so tight together under the table. 

Okay. Surely... surely male friends held hands sometimes, right? It was normal. Totally normal. 

Right? 

Right. 

After their impromptu lunch concluded, the room grew silent, the men getting solemn as the reason Arthur had come was remembered. Gwaine cleared his throat as he looked up from the spot on the ground he was sitting at, empty bowl beside him. 

“So. Princess. It really is great to see you, don’t get me wrong. But I fail to see how you and those gorgeous friends of yours are going to be able to help us with the sorcerers. No offense, but neither seem like they’d be handy with a blade. Again, no offense meant, my lord and lady,” Gwaine assured, giving Freya a wink. Freya just rolled her eyes and leaned back in the chair she was seated in. 

“Yeah, I know that, you prat. But, as I am sure you know, we can’t use blades or brute force in this matter. We’d get killed. I thought, perhaps, a more… delicate approach was needed.”

Delicate? Merlin gave Arthur a strange look, the boy scowling about something. Their hands were still clasped, though. It was nice. 

“What do you mean? How can they help?” Gwen’s brother called, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“And who are they? I don’t think I caught their names,” another of Arthur’s friends called. Merlin had no idea who he was, only that he had light brown skin and seemed younger than the others. Maybe in his late teens at most. 

Arthur sighed at that, disentangling their hands. Merlin mourned the warmth immediately. Arthur stood, though, indicating that Merlin should do the same. He did so with a curious look. 

“Alright. I guess introductions are in order. This, everyone, is Prince Merlin Emrys. Greatest warlock in the entire continent. If anyone can help us, it’s him.”

Silence reigned after that, all eyes bugged out as they stared at the pair. Merlin had never felt so awkward before, which was a great feat, as he always felt awkward. It was Gwaine who laughed first, a loud snort, followed by every other man in the room. Only the women didn’t laugh, Freya looking mildly offended on his behalf. 

Merlin himself didn’t know if he should be feeling offended or not. He then decided he landed on the favor of offended when Gwaine called out to them. 

“Him?! The prince?! No offense, really, but he looks more like a country bumpkin than anything royal. He’s so scrawny! And don’t princes wear crowns or something?”

“Hey!” Merlin cried, frowning in offense. He wasn’t scrawny! And yeah, he had left his crown at home, but he usually hated wearing the thing. It felt too pretentious. He usually only wore it during court or when he was out in the town. He hadn’t thought he’d need it here, and as he wasn’t the crown prince yet, he wasn’t required to always wear it. Plus, it would just be asking for trouble from bandits and such, besides. Perhaps he should have, though…

“Really, I’m not trying to offend. But pull another leg, Arthur. Tell us the truth,” Gwaine continued, shaking his head as he chuckled to himself. 

“Yeah. Like the prince would help us, anyway. He hates non-magical people like his father. He’d probably sooner kill us than help us,” Gwen’s brother muttered, eyes dark. 

Merlin’s heart plummeted at that, the pleasant atmosphere souring instantly for him. He realized suddenly that he likely wasn’t a well-liked person in this village. It wasn’t like he’d blame them for it, though. He knew what his father was like. He couldn’t even tell his father the truth of where he was, knowing the man would have chained him in the dungeon for even suggesting that he risk his life to save a village of non-magical people from sorcerers. They couldn’t know he wasn’t like that. How could they? Still, knowing that the people that were so important to Arthur likely didn’t like him… it felt awful. 

He hoped one couldn’t die of emotional whiplash. He’d be a goner if one could. 

Before he could get too dejected, he felt Arthur stiffen beside him, eyes flashing with anger again. 

“You’re wrong. Merlin isn’t like that. I’ll admit, I hated him at first. He was rude and cruel and pigheaded,” Arthur started, which didn’t exactly make Merlin feel better. But then Arthur smiled softly, eyes light as they looked at him. “But he’s proven himself to be a good man. He saved my life, once. I trust him fully. He’ll help us. And he is the prince. I guess.”

“You guess,” Merlin parroted, rolling his eyes to ignore the tightness in his chest. Arthur bumped into his shoulder with a snicker. He sobered quickly when he noticed the dark looks that had entered the eyes of the men surrounding them. 

“Arthur. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me you didn’t bring the prince of fucking Camelot home with you,” Gwaine growled, his previously amused turning eyes hard as steel as he glared at Arthur, not even looking at Merlin. 

Merlin swallowed thickly. This wasn’t going very well. 

“Oh, leave off, Gwaine! Arthur’s right. He’s a good man. He’s been nothing but kind to me since I met him. He isn’t like his father. He’s here to help. Give him a chance, at least,” Gwen asked, arms crossed, frowning down at the men from the chair she was seated in beside Freya. 

“I will not! He’s the fucking prince! How many people has he sent to their deaths? And for what, not having magic? For using a fucking sword to dare to protect themselves against _his kind_?! I know the things his father has done. I don’t know what kind of spell he has you under. But I’m not falling for it,” Gwaine snarled, standing abruptly. As he stood, so did everyone else in the room, half of them wary, half of them also enraged. 

Well. This was going well, Merlin thought faintly, biting his lip nervously. He had expected resistance at first. Had anticipated it, even. But it was harder to see it. To be the target of such intense hatred. No, he didn’t blame them. Not at all. That still didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. Terribly. 

For one minute he had been able to pretend he had belonged here. With Arthur by his side. He thought he could have been accepted here, another one of the guys. But no. Of course not. He was the son of their tormentor, the man who indirectly made their lives hell. The man who was the cause of their problems. It was like asking a group of slaves to befriend the son of their cruel slave master, even if the son had never done anything to them personally. He’d never belong. Not here. Not anywhere. 

“Boys settle down! I will not have you fighting in my house. Either sit down or leave. Now,” Ygraine called out, stern voice clear through the din. She sounded like a queen in that moment, voice commanding. The men hesitated, clearly unsure which they wanted to do. Ygraine continued. “If Arthur says he’s here to help, then I think he has the right to at least speak his case. He is here, after all. That should tell us something.”

Merlin felt that he loved that woman. He smiled at her faintly, hoping his thanks was clear in his eyes. She smiled at him back, nice enough, though it seemed a touch guarded. Like she didn’t know what to think of him, either. It made his heart clench. He turned back to the room of angry men, who were grumbling as they slowly took a seat again. Merlin was suddenly very glad that Ygraine was there. Things could have gotten very ugly, very quickly if she hadn’t been. 

“I still don’t trust him,” Gwaine grumbled, eyes dark as he looked at Merlin. Well. Guess the offer from earlier was off the table. 

“Would you give me a chance to explain, please?” Arthur asked, exasperated. 

“What is there to explain? He’s clearly ensorcelling you. After all, you wrote how much you hated him in your letters home. How he worked you so hard without any break. Why would you suddenly be best friends now if he wasn’t using magic on you?” A voice said. Merlin had no idea what the person’s name was. He was a larger man, with pale skin and very short, nearly shorn brown hair. He hated how he barely knew any of the men in this room, while they all judged him so darkly. 

And what did the man mean, in Arthur’s letters home? He had thought that Arthur had stopped hating him months ago. Why did his friends still think they hated one another? 

Unless… 

With a sinking heart, he looked at Arthur, the boy looking ashamed about something. He then remembered something that Gwen had said once, about how he was different to what she had expected from Arthur’s letters home. Arthur had looked frantic at the mention of the letters, but he had initially written it off, thinking Arthur had just been badmouthing him like usual. But you know. In a friendly way.

But maybe…

Maybe he had been telling them about how awful a master he was. 

How he hated working for him. 

Merlin suddenly felt sick to his stomach, clenching his jaw as he tried to not show any weakness here. It was like the meetings his father had with the kings of rival kingdoms that he asked Merlin to attend. He had to be perfectly composed or else the other side would have power against them. Part of him wanted to defend himself, to say that he had made sure to be as lenient as possible after the first couple weeks, but he didn’t think it would matter. After all. He hadn’t been a good master for those first couple weeks. Maybe that was all that mattered. Could a person ever truly change? He didn’t know.

“That… that was just… look, it’s not what you think. He’s not enchanting me. Please, believe me.” 

But they wouldn’t. Merlin knew that more than anything, stomach eating itself from the inside out. They hated him. With good reason, honestly. They weren’t going to listen to Arthur, let alone him. Especially if Arthur has been writing home that… that he…

Suddenly, the room was too stifling. He looked over at Freya and Gwen, both girls looking angry. Hopefully on his behalf, but he had no idea. Maybe they all hated him. It was fair. He wouldn’t blame them. 

“Stop,” he rasped, interrupting another person he didn’t know who was about to speak. “Stop. It’s fine. I- I understand why you hate me. And it’s fine. I know you don’t believe me, but I’ve come to help. And I will. Just. Where are the sorcerers located? I’ll go and deal with them. You won’t ever have to see me again. I swear.” 

The men in the room collectively let out a noise of protest at that, a wave of noise that made Merlin’s head hurt. He longed to use his magic to make them stop but knew that would make matters worse. 

“Like hell we’ll tell you where they are! You’ll probably just head there and tell them about our plans to rise against them!” Gwen’s brother said, eyes alight in anger. Somehow, that made the words worse. Gwen was such a sweet girl. If her family hated him… 

“Stop! All of you stop! He came here to help, and this is how you thank him?! I’m ashamed in all of you. You especially Elyan. Is this what dad would have wanted?” Gwen asked, standing from her seat, eyes fiery. Suppose she was on his side, then. At least there was that. 

“And how would you know what dad would have wanted?! His father killed him!” Gwen’s brother, Elyan he supposed, shouted, eyes equally fiery as he pointed at Merlin. Merlin felt his heart clench at the words. He hadn’t known the king had been responsible for Gwen’s father’s death. 

“I would know better than you! You weren’t even here when he died!” 

Okay. He had to stop this. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of him. 

“Stop!” Merlin commanded, using the voice his father taught him to use in court meetings. It was a voice that commanded respect. That commanded the inhabitants of the room to listen. 

It worked. Elyan shut his mouth, eyes glaring daggers at Merlin, but he didn’t say another word. He just stormed out of the house, pushing passed the others to do so. 

“Look. Look, I’ll leave. I’ll just go. It’s fine. I’ll find out where they are myself. I swore I’d help, and I will. But don’t worry. I’ll leave you all alone.” 

His breath was ragged, but he hoped no one noticed. He had his mask on, but he could feel it fracturing. He had to get out of this house before he broke completely. 

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, reaching out for him. But Merlin just took a step back, eyes flashing as he shook his head. He was angry, but he didn’t know why. 

“No, Arthur. Leave it. It’s fine. I’m going to go check on our horses.”

With that, Merlin swept out of the house, glad his path was mostly clear. He had to walk over a couple bodies, but he did so with as much grace as he could manage, his traveling cloak billowing behind him. He was surprised they hadn’t realized who he was before. He wore his family’s colors and crest on him, after all. 

As he stormed through the town, which was looking much blurrier now than it had before, Merlin managed to find his way back to where they had first entered, Buttercup and Raindrop still where they had left them. 

He rushed forward, breathing harsh as he hugged his horse, hiding his face in her mane as he felt some tears leak out. Oh. Some prince he was. Crying like a baby because people didn’t like him. Lord, he was going to be a terrible king one day. His father wouldn’t have cared that the men hadn’t liked him. His father would likely have had them executed for treason for even thinking the words the men had said. But he wasn’t his father. He’d never be like his father. He was too weak willed and fanciful. 

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. 

As he clutched her tightly, he felt his horse butting his shoulder with her head, nickering for treats. Giving a strained laugh, he stepped back and reached into his pack, grabbing the couple of carrots he hid there. He handed one to Buttercup and the other to Raindrop, both horses pleased with the treats. He smiled as he watched them happily munch away, rubbing his eyes clear of the shameful tears. He’d always loved horses, finding the animals soothing. Truthfully, he loved most animals. They were much simpler than humans to deal with. They didn’t have expectations for him. They just cared if he was kind, and if he had food. It was simple. 

“There’s a good girl. Thank you, both, for getting us here so quick. You did so great, yes you did,” Merlin heard himself coo, grinning at the horses shook their heads while they whinnied. He liked to think they appreciated his words. 

“Prince Merlin,” he heard a voice call to him. He tensed for a second, before realizing it was too feminine to be any of the men from the room. Like they’d ever call him by his title, he thought wryly. He looked over and saw, to his surprise, Arthur’s mother standing there, Freya standing beside her, wringing her hands. As he looked over, Freya darted forward and threw her arms around him, holding him tight. 

“I’m so sorry, Merlin. They shouldn’t have said those things to you. I swear, I’m going to give them a piece of my mind. How dare they?! You came to help and-“

“Freya. Freya, it’s fine. I get it. They had every right to be furious at me. I’d be too, if I were them. I know what my father is like. I don’t blame them. But I promised Lady Gwen I would help, and so I will. So, Lady Du Bois. Would you mind telling me where the band of sorcerers are hiding out, so that I can deal with them? Maybe we can work something out. If not… well.” 

Merlin looked over at Arthur’s mother, remembering the family name that one of Arthur’s friends had used. He didn’t know why she had followed him, if she was intending to yell at him or not. But he figured he’d try his luck. She hadn’t seemed to hate him, at least. 

He waited for a few seconds as silence reigned, Freya shifting from within his arms. He let her go abruptly, having forgotten he hadn’t let her go already. She gave him a sad look but stepped back, hands clasped together in front of her. 

“You can’t go to them alone. They won’t listen to reason. They don’t respect the crown. I’m fairly certain they’re all criminals. They’ll kill you if you go alone,” Ygraine said plainly, after a minute had passed. Her voice gave nothing away, her face a perfect mask. He smiled at her weakly. He didn’t get a chance to speak, though, as Freya cut in. 

“He wouldn’t be going alone. I’ll be going with him. Please, my Lady. It’ll be easier if we know where we are going,” Freya implored, eyes beseeching. Ygraine stared at them for a moment, before nodding. 

“Very well. They are camped outside town a ways. They’ve been terrorizing the entire area for months now. They steal food and demand money for ‘protecting’ us. We have determined that they are likely camped in the woods to the west of town. I don’t know much more than that, I am afraid.”

Well. It was something. At least they knew where to start looking. Smiling gratefully, Merlin nodded, hoping she could see he truly was there to help. She had seemed so nice, earlier. He would hate if she hated him. His lip wobbled at the thought, but he did his best to keep it together. He was trying to be more of a man. Men didn’t cry over little things like people they barely knew hating them. 

Merlin didn’t want to have to kill anyone if he didn’t have to. But if what Arthur’s mother said was true, that they didn’t respect the crown, then he’d have to use force. And while he didn’t like doing it, he had killed before. And he likely would again. It’s what princes did. At least… that’s what his father had always told him. 

“Then that is where we will begin our search. Thank you, my Lady. Your help has been immeasurable. We will go and deal with the renegades. I swear it upon my mother’s grave.”

He watched as Ygraine softened, her eyes looking at him with sympathy instead of the careful blankness she had been looking at him with before. 

“I do not doubt you, my prince. But please, I implore that you and your lady rest before riding out to meet them. You’ve had a long journey. Please, rest for the night and face them fresh in the morning. You are both welcome in my home, though it is not much. No harm will befall you there. Rest will help you in your fight. And please know that I am beyond grateful for your assistance. Your kindness will not be forgotten, and I will ensure that the entire area knows of your deeds here. You will forever have our loyalty.”

Merlin felt the damned lump rise in his throat again, though he tried to ignore it as he smiled weakly again. He understood her logic, though part of him wanted to get this over with so that he could go home. Maybe, if they finished in enough time, Freya and he could actually head to the shrine of Ivegrus to hone his power a little. Maybe it would help with the swirling emotions he had inside of him. He carefully didn’t think about Arthur or the question of if he would be joining them. After learning that the boy had been writing home that he was overworking him and that the boy hated him, well. He figured he knew his answer. 

On the other hand, he truly was tired. Bone tired, as Gaius always called it. The kind of tired that entered into one’s very soul and leeched all the strength they had. He was just so tired of being hated. He had finally gotten both Arthur and his father to not hate him terribly, or so he had thought. Maybe Arthur did still hate him. Maybe he hadn’t been kind enough. And knowing his luck his father would go back to his usual ways when he returned. Maybe he didn’t deserve to be loved.

Maybe he was accidentally enchanting Arthur, he mused, staring dully at Buttercup as she peacefully ate the hay from the trough nearby. He knew that most magic needed a spell to work, but his had always been so instinctual. Maybe he’d been enchanting his servant without even knowing. It would be just his luck. 

“We’d be honored to stay with you, Lady Du Bois. We thank you for your kindness and hospitality,” Freya said before he could make up his mind, curtsying with a smile. Technically they didn’t have to show the woman any decorum, since they weren’t in court. But Merlin knew it went deeper than that. It was about respect. And showing that they weren’t as stuck up as most Noble sorcerers. Besides. Arthur’s mother was more a Lady than half the Nobles he met.

Ygraine smiled at them, before nodding to their horses. 

“Do you need a place to house them for the night? I can call in a favor with the local farmer to have them housed for the night.”

“Thank you, my Lady. That would be most appreciated, though we can pay for their board,” Merlin replied, his weariness catching up to him. He hated Formal Speech, but he felt so discomforted here that he didn’t know what else to do. It was be formal or burst into tears. 

It was then that he heard footsteps approach them, heavy and quick. His heart pounded as he looked over towards whoever was approaching, afraid it was one of Arthur’s friends come to hurt or harass him. In the end, it turned out to be worse. 

“Merlin,” he heard the familiar voice entreat, but he resolutely looked away. He didn’t even know why he was upset. This whole situation made him upset and it was made worse by the fact that Arthur had written home that he was awful. 

Or maybe that was just his excuse. After all, he still could feel the phantom of that too warm hand pressed against his. And he knew how meaningless it all was to the other. It would be best if he distanced himself. If he pulled away. 

But how could he, he wondered, as Arthur disregarded his silent displeasure and strode forward regardless, that damned hand reaching out and grasping his upper arm. He thought about pulling away, but in the end didn’t. He did look up at Arthur, at the sorrow and regret he found there. He thought again about his theory that he was unconsciously enchanting Arthur. He reached his magic out, brushing the other boy, checking for any sign of magic. The only thing he felt was the charm he had gifted Arthur three months ago. If he were enchanted, Merlin couldn’t detect it. Arthur shuddered, almost like he knew what he’d been doing. But that made no sense, as the boy had no magic, so he pushed it from his mind.

“I’m sorry,” the boy stated a moment later, voice full of regret. Merlin looked away again, eyes shiny as he stared at Buttercup. “I didn’t think that they… I mean, I knew they hated the crown, but I hadn’t… but I should have realized and warned you and I’m so very sorry.”

Yes. He should have warned him. Merlin had suspected that Arthur’s friends would distrust him, maybe even hate him. But he had thought they’d be willing to listen if he had come in peace, swearing to help their village. He was a fool. A damned, wishful fool. 

But that was fine. He was more than powerful enough to defend the village himself. He didn’t need them. 

He didn’t need anyone. 

“Merlin. Please. Talk to me,” Arthur tried again, stepping closer, hand moving up to his neck, warm and steady. Merlin distantly noticed that Arthur’s mother was watching them with a curious eye. He figured he should probably step back. He didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. 

Stepping back, Merlin looked to Arthur, eyes blank. He wasn’t mad at the boy. He was just… tired. So very tired. It had been a trying few days. He wanted to rest. He was going to tell Arthur that it was alright and that things were fine, that he didn’t blame him. He opened his mouth to say the words. 

“Did you really write home that you hated me,” was what came out instead. 

He officially hated himself. 

He just looked down at the ground following his accidental question. One day he would learn to keep his mouth shut. One day. 

Arthur made a pained sound, his hand scrubbing through his hair roughly. 

“I… yes. Yes, I did. At first, I had meant it, back when we were still, you know. At odds. But then… I just never took it back. I figured it would be safer, you know. In case the letters got intercepted. You know, how you’re so anxious to keep our friendship from your father.”

Was he imagining it, or did Arthur sound bitter? He snorted, shaking his head. He was too tired to care. He wanted to sleep for ages. It was only midday, but he was so goddamn tired. 

“I don’t tell my father to keep us safe. If he knew I didn’t hate you, he’d send you away. Like he always does when I make a friend. So, I’m sorry for not telling him,” Merlin heard himself snap. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t angry. He really wasn’t. 

He heard Arthur take a sharp breath in. Part of him wanted Arthur to yell at him. To scream. To tell him how angry he was and that he never wanted to see him again. He wanted to be hurt, he realized. He didn’t know why. 

Instead, Arthur just let out the breath, before stepping closer to Merlin again. It felt private. Intimate. Freya had looked away to give them privacy, but Arthur’s mother was still staring, that curious look mounting within her eyes. 

“No. I’m the one who should be sorry. I asked you to come here and all you’ve gotten is grief for it. I should have told them the truth. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Arthur touched him then. It was a gentle caress, his hand lightly touching the back of Merlin’s hand, but he had had enough. Eyes flashing, Merlin took another step back, so very tired. He wasn’t angry. He was just… so tired. 

“Stop. Stop touching me. Stop pretending you care. I can’t stand it. You know what it means to me. So please, Arthur. Just stop.” 

He was begging now. He wanted to sleep. He wanted this day to be over. Why couldn’t it just be over? Arthur looked at him with wide eyes, shame flashing in them, before they shuttered. The boy nodded once, taking a few steps back. To give him distance. He wanted to cry. He was too tired to cry. He didn’t know what he wanted. 

“Perhaps it would be best to head back home. Arthur, have your friends left?” Ygraine asked, voice soft. At Arthur’s nod, Ygraine smiled and started heading back. As the others followed her, Merlin figured he had no choice and followed too. He felt the eyes of the village staring at them as they passed. At him. He imagined he could feel their hatred. They didn’t even know him. Why did they hate him? 

When they finally reached the small (to him; the building was actually larger than most he had passed), two story home, he entered after the other three. Part of him feared that Arthur had lied and that his friends were still there. But, to his relief, only Gwen was in the house, washing the dishes they had used. When she saw him, Merlin knew she wanted to apologize, her face lined with sorrow, but she must have seen the exhaustion in his face, for all she did was tsk, putting the dishes down as she wandered over to him. 

“You look tired, Prince Merlin. Perhaps you should lie down for a bit and rest?” 

It was a miracle that someone actually noticed how tired he was. He thought that he could love Gwen just for that. He tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Could he do nothing right?

“Gwen is right, your highness. We don’t have much, but we have a couple of clean mattresses for you to lie on. Arthur can lead you upstairs to our bedrooms. Arthur?” Ygraine gestured for the boys to head up, smiling kindly at them. Merlin tried to smile back but found he just… couldn’t. 

Arthur nodded, jerking his head as he turned to the stairs, indicating that Merlin should follow. After a second of hesitation, he did. 

The silence would have been stifling if Merlin weren’t so very tired. Arthur led him into a small room off to the side of the landing, with a thin mattress lying in the middle, slightly dusty. Arthur let out an annoyed hum, before he shook the mattress out, getting as much dust off as he could. 

“It’s not what you’re used to, but I hope it’s enough,” Arthur muttered, ears red with embarrassment. Was he ashamed of his room? Merlin didn’t think he should be. It was nice, in a simple way. If Merlin were being honest, looking around with as much interest as he could muster, he thought he liked it more than his rooms at the castle. It felt more lived in. More loved. More personal. Merlin had tried to make his rooms personal and homey, but he’d never quite managed to pull it off. He never felt like he belonged there. A fake prince. If anything, he felt like Arthur belonged in his rooms better. The boy just looked like he fit amongst luxury in a way Merlin’s gangly, awkward self was never quite able to manage. 

Merlin liked it here, he decided as he sat on the thin mattress, heavy with exhaustion. He could see why Arthur wanted to stay. He felt Arthur sit beside him, a few feet away, on the ground. The boy just stared at him, not saying a word. Just… staring. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said a few minutes later. Merlin grinned humorlessly. 

“You already said that, you prat. You don’t have to. I told you it’s fine.”

And it was. Truly, it was. 

Arthur didn’t seem to think that way, as he let out a noise of protest. Merlin rolled his eyes. 

“Stop being rude, you arse. I’m trying to apologize. I don’t so it often, or for just anyone, so be grateful I’m even bothering,” Arthur huffed, rolling his eyes back. There was a soft smile on his lips though, which made Merlin think he wasn’t actually mad. That was good. 

“You say you don’t do it often, and yet you’ve apologized at least three times. In the last ten minutes. I think someone is lying,” Merlin replied casually, actually grinning now. Some of his exhaustion left him as he sat there, Arthur a few feet away, snorting at his words indignantly. 

“Oh, fuck off, you prat. That should show you how much I mean it. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I yelled at my friends after you left, if it makes you feel better. They’ll be more willing to help, I think. You don’t have to go alone. I won’t let you.”

The words were soft. They made his stomach churn. He hated it. He loved it. He didn’t know what he felt. 

“I can handle myself, Arthur. And anyway, you can’t wield a blade against them. It’s against the law. And while I don’t quite agree with it, I can’t just stand by as people break my father’s laws. I’m the prince. I’m bound by honor and duty to uphold the laws of this land. Regardless of my own feelings for the matter. It would be best if you and yours stayed here while Freya and I deal with the sorcerers. I’m planning on trying to reason with them, if possible, but I can handle a fight if I have to. I just… I just need some rest. God, I’m tired.”

Arthur stared at him after that, frown on his face. 

“I’m not letting you go alone. That’s final, Merlin. Now get some rest. You’ve earned it.” With that, Arthur stood, then walked over to the blinds to shut them. The fabric was thin, so it didn’t do much, but it blocked enough of the light. Arthur then went over to the corner of the room and grabbed some clean smelling sheets and handed them to Merlin, who took them with a bemused look. Arthur then rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

“I nearly forgot. You’re a prince. You don’t know how to make a bed, do you?”

Merlin would be offended if Arthur hadn’t said it so cheekily, smirk alight on his face. Plus, it was the truth. Merlin had never learned. Still, he put on an haute look and looked down his nose at Arthur, trying not to smile like an idiot. 

“Please. How hard could it be?” 

Pretty hard, Merlin found out. Arthur had raised an eyebrow at him and just gestured for Merlin to try, crossing his arms and looking impossibly smug. Merlin was determined to wipe that smug look away, so he went about putting the sheets on. 

By the fourth time he had rearranged the sheets and they still managed to be crooked and lumpy, he gave up, surrendering to Arthur’s laughter with a groan. 

“It’s not funny, _Art_ hur. Come and help me. I’m tired,” Merlin whined, pouting melodramatically. He was good at playing the fool. Arthur shook his head, laughter racking his body. 

“You’re terrible at this. Come on, let me show you how it’s done.”

Merlin watched with a little amazement at how Arthur so carefully and quickly made the bed. Or, well. Mattress. It shouldn’t have been impressive, such a simple task as it was, but it still was a bit incredible to see. As Arthur finished, smiling smugly, their hands brushed, the pair sitting closer than expected in the impromptu lesson. Arthur jolted back like he was burned, eyes wide. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean…” he trailed off, wincing a little. Merlin felt bad. He shouldn’t have yelled at him earlier. He said nothing, though. Just sat and stared. Arthur sighed, shaking his head. 

“I had wanted to say this earlier, before you rudely interrupted me. I’m sorry for touching you. I don’t mean any harm. But I’ll stop if you want. I promise.”

Merlin felt his insides squeeze at that, something in him rebelling at the words, but found that he didn’t know what to say in response, so he just said nothing. After a moment passed, Arthur set his jaw and nodded sharply. 

“Okay. Good. Now, get some sleep, alright? You look like shit. Sleeping on the ground last night really took it out of you, huh?” 

With that, Arthur stood and crossed the room, bent on leaving Merlin alone. But suddenly… Merlin didn’t want that. To be alone, in this foreign place. Before Arthur could exit the room, Merlin let out a noise of protest, almost against his will. To his pleasure, Arthur stopped immediately and turned, eyebrow raised. Merlin’s throat was dry, but he managed to get the words out. 

“Don’t go. Please. I don’t want to be alone. Please.”

It mortified him to beg like that, but it was true. He didn’t want to be so alone anymore. He watched as Arthur hesitated by the doorway, no door to block the surprisingly comforting noises that came from downstairs, just a thin curtain. Merlin felt like a jerk. He had kept the boy from his mother for long enough, and yet here he was, trying to selfishly keep him longer. He was about to renege his request with red cheeks, but before he could Arthur nodded and returned to his side, sitting against the wall under the window, one knee propped while his arm rested lazily on it. He looked so regal it took Merlin’s breath away. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay. Sleep well, my prince.”

Funny, Merlin thought as his eyes closed despite him, feeling more relaxed than he had in ages. He hadn’t heard Arthur call him by any monikers in ages, not when they were alone. He didn’t know if he liked it or not. 

As he drifted off, he heard himself mumble something sleepily. 

“I don’t mind, you know. You touching me. Kind of like it, if we’re being honest. I like you touching me.”

He hadn’t meant to say it. It just slipped out. Perhaps it was because he was thinking about how nice it would be, if Arthur came closer and ran warm fingers through his hair. He didn’t know what Arthur said in reply, because the next breath, he was sleeping soundly, light snores filling the air. 

He dreamt of nothing.

It was incredible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Gwaine. When I first wrote this chapter, I hadn't actually reached Gwaine's episode in my rewatch of the show, so I was mostly going off what I vaguely remembered of Gwaine from the show and from fanfic, several years ago. I hadn't intended on him and Merlin really being anything to one another, except for Merlin maybe having a crush on him. 
> 
> After watching his titular episode, shortly after writing this chapter, though, I decided to make his role bigger. So, rest assured, he doesn't stay angry with Merlin forever. In fact, in Merlin's next chapter he's already warming up to Merlin. And the chapter after that, well... ;-) 
> 
> Anyway, I decided to keep this chapter as it is, since I didn't think that Arthur's friends would be very happy with Merlin right off the bat. Will didn't like Arthur, after all, and this story line is a loose rewrite of the episode they all head to Ealdor, "The Moment of Truth," so I kept that aspect in. However, all of Arthur's friends have some really personal reasons for not liking the royals of Camelot in this story, some of which are discussed later, some of which are just "the king literally wants us all dead, basically." Again, this does not stay like this, so fret not.


	11. Drunken Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: some characters get drunk. All are over the age of 18, however. Also, what might be considered homophobic behavior, but is unintended by the character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we go any farther, please note that I have never been drunk, nor have I ever been around drunk people. I mostly just wrote whatever I wanted, since I thought it was funny, aha. I think that tells you all you need to know about my sense of humor, really. 
> 
> Hi!! So, I almost forgot to post today, which is why this chapter is being posted so late (for me, at least). On the plus side, we get to learn more about Arthur's friends, and see some drunken hijinks between Arthur and Merlin, so that's fun! :-D 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments everyone! I love to see them and they really help me with my anxiety over posting, aha. Sorry that I don't reply to every comment, but I do my best to answer questions, so feel free to ask! I'll even answer with mild spoilers, if you're concerned about something coming up. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Arthur had no idea where he stood with the prince that he supposed he served. 

It was strange to realize. He’d been with Merlin for three and a half months now and yet he felt so odd-footed. Their comfortable routine had been, likely irreparably, damaged and now here he sat, watching the prat sleep, and he had no idea how to fix things. He never should have gone to Camelot. His life has just been chaos since then. 

He did feel bad for the prince, though. He came here, possibly risking his life (though Arthur was confident he’d do just fine against even a hundred sorcerers), and what thanks did he get? A group of men he barely knew jeering at him. Arthur understood, as he had been like that once. Hating the fake Nobles that claimed what he and his once owned. The royals who cared only, ever, for themselves. 

But Merlin was different. He was so kind it made Arthur despair. It would get the prince killed one day, he was sure of it. He cared so deeply about everything. Arthur could see how it weighed on him, his eyes full of conflict and heartache.

And his magic…

Arthur had felt it, earlier. Probing him. For one heart stopping moment he’d wondered if maybe his friends had been right. If Merlin was enchanting him. But the magic hadn’t done anything. It had just… touched him. Poured over him like a soothing balm. Like it was checking on him, to see if he was alright. It had felt good, and kind, and, honestly, all kinds of wonderful. It wasn’t an enchantment. He didn’t know much about magic, but he knew that. 

It had felt almost satisfying to yell at his friends. They’d resisted at first, but Arthur had always been their de facto leader and they eventually listened. Gwaine had looked defiant, but Arthur knew why he hated nobility, royalty especially. His father had been a knight for another kingdom and had died when he was a baby, fighting against Camelot for his kingdom. And then he and his mother had been forced to flee to Fayford when he’d been fourteen and Arthur had been twelve, driven out of their home kingdom by Balinor’s war, his younger sister dying somehow in their flight. He had more reason than most to hate the crown. 

He also had more reason than most to see that Merlin wasn’t like that. Gwaine had always been of the mind that it was the character of a man, not their title or their familial ties, that mattered. And Arthur knew that once he got to know Merlin, he’d see him the way Arthur did. 

Well. Maybe not exactly the same as Arthur did. Though, who knew. Gwaine was an odd sort. 

Now, as for Elyan, he had no idea what to do there. His father had been killed when the baker had accidentally housed a group of rebel leaders. He hadn’t known they were known rebels, though. He’d just taken their money, thinking it was grand. Then the castle Mages had come and taken him away. He’d been executed later that day, no trial. Gwen had been 18 at the time and it had nearly destroyed her, but she was a resilient one. Elyan had returned home a year later, and had eventually made up with his sister, but he still was so bitter over what had happened. He wasn’t likely to forgive. Arthur had no idea what to do there.

Regardless, those two besides, he had managed to drive sense into most of his friends’ heads. After all, who could fight against a sorcerer other than another sorcerer? And the prince was the best of them all. He was certain that, despite any lingering anger, they’d trust him, at the least.

He did regret the fact he had never written home that he and Merlin got along better now, though. He had just never expected the prince to ever learn about it, as he’d never even dreamt of bringing Merlin home with him. It was like they were two separate worlds. Merlin and Camelot in one, his friends and family in another. It had seemed easier to lie, to grouse about Merlin’s unfair treatment, even though the prince had been nothing but fair to him for three months now. More than fair, honestly. Arthur saw how the other ‘Nobles’ treated their servants, especially the non-magical ones. How they’d be beaten for even the slightest hint of disrespect, or worse. He was lucky that Merlin never cared about that sort of thing. Even seemed to like it, at times. He’d never hit him, not even back during those first weeks, and hadn’t really ever meant to hurt him. Not really.

And he had repaid his kindness with callous words. He had never wanted Merlin to learn about that. Had never wanted to see the pain in those brilliant blue eyes. It had hurt something deep within him to see it. 

He had to make it up to Merlin. He had looked so forlorn earlier, even before the men had turned on him. Arthur knew the boy had never had a friend before, and after the words Merlin had said outside, he now knew why. Something about the king making them leave. 

He knew his friends would grow to adore Merlin like he did. He was determined to make it happen. They had at most two weeks here, with Arthur knowing it would take maybe a day to deal with the sorcerers if Merlin handled it alone. He would make sure the boy didn’t, so they could elongate their stay. He would use that time to fix his crime. He swore it on his honor. 

None of that, however, explained why Arthur had thought it a good idea to hold his master’s hand before anything had even happened. 

Merlin was right to be angry with him about it. He didn’t even know why he did. It had just been a reflex. He had seen Merlin growing uncomfortable and sad and had wanted to do something to make it better. 

He didn’t know why he had thought holding his hand was a great idea, but, well… it had felt nice. Merlin’s hands were soft and smooth, having never held a blade or done a day’s hard work in his life. It had been almost a rush to hold such a delicate hand. Not even Gwen had such smooth hands, hers marred from hours and hours of her seamstress and farm work. Not that there was anything wrong with that. It proved her strength, really. The closest had been Morgana’s hands, which were softer given she was able to use her magic to do her work. 

Arthur let out a sigh, leaning back against the wall. Merlin’s soft snores filled the air, oddly soothing. It was odd, having someone else in his room, sleeping on his mattress. But it wasn’t all bad. Not bad at all, if he was being honest. It looked like Merlin belonged there, his cloak that he’d yet to take off blanketed around him under the thin coverings that Arthur had given him. It should be odd seeing a prince in such lowly quarters, but it strangely suited Merlin. Arthur didn’t know what that said about either of them. 

“Arthur,” he heard a voice call up the stairs. His mother, he thought with a smile. She was likely wondering where he had gone. He looked over at the sleeping form of his friend. He didn’t want to leave him alone, the prince having looked so upset when he’d asked him to stay, claiming that he hadn’t wanted to be alone. It had hurt him deep inside to hear the lost tone in the other boy’s voice. He didn’t want to leave. But the boy was asleep, and his thoughts were turning maudlin. It was probably best to leave before he got too sappy. Besides. He missed his mother dearly. They had at most two weeks here. And then they’d leave. 

And he would leave, he realized as he stood, staring wistfully at the sleeping boy. He didn’t belong here anymore. He had felt it as soon as he had entered the village, seeing the familiar faces. They were all the same, he had seen that. But he wasn’t. He had changed. That boy had changed him. He didn’t know if the change was a good thing or not. 

Christ. He had to get out of this room. He was one moment away from spewing poetry, lamenting his life. Disgusting. 

With a roll of his eyes, Arthur pushed away from the wall and stomped down the stairs, noticing a loose board near the middle. He’d have to fix that before he went. 

In the living area, he watched as Gwen and Freya chatted, the latter girl laughing at something Gwen had said, eyes lingering on the former’s mouth, hand touching Gwen’s arm gently. Hmm. That was probably strange. 

Before he could think on it, he heard his mother call to him again. 

“Arthur. There you are. Is everything alright with his highness?” His mother questioned, her eyes full of a kind of motherly worry. He suppressed the grin he felt rising on his lips. He knew his mother would love the prince. It was hard not to. 

Blushing lightly at the thought, he nodded as he cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, he’s out like a light. I noticed that there’s a loose board on the stairs. Want me to go take a look at that?” Might as well get it over with. Plus, it would give him something to focus on before planning began.

His mother gave him a curious look that told him she saw right through him, but kindly she just nodded. 

“If you wouldn’t mind. I’ve been meaning to ask one of the boys to fix it, but we’ve all been busy here, recently. I didn’t want to bother them. I would appreciate your help, my love.” 

Nodding, he went over to where they kept their tools and grabbed a hammer and some nails, as well as a new board. He didn’t know if the board was rotten or not, but better to be prepared. 

He did his best to be quiet, knowing that sound travelled in the house. Seeing at how deeply Merlin had been sleeping, however, he was sure that even a stampede couldn’t wake the boy. Still. It was common courtesy. Getting started, he let himself drift off, his mind numb as he worked.

It was familiar work, allowing Arthur to lose himself in the motions. It was a good thing that he had brought the extra board as the one on the stair was too weak. He distantly recalled that he had wanted to repair it before he left but decided it would last the week or two until he returned. And it likely would have. Had he not been gone for nearly four months. 

It took a couple hours to finish, especially after he noticed that some of the other steps had gone loose as well. It was toiling work, but it gave him an excuse not to think. He could hear the women chatting below, Freya’s high-pitched laugh ringing through the air as Gwen’s low giggles followed. He was really starting to wonder if something was going on between those two. He wondered why the spark of jealousy he usually felt when thinking of Gwen with anyone else was missing. He pushed it from his mind instantly. It didn’t matter.

It was as he was nearly done with the stairs, forehead sweating with the exertion, that he heard the quick inhale of breath from above him. Eyes darting up, he felt his throat run dry at the sight that met him. 

It wasn’t fair that Merlin looked so good after just waking, he thought with a grumble. And the boy had obviously just awakened, his eyes bleary with sleep, hair mused beyond control. It had grown out a little in the months they’d known one another, Merlin shrugging when Arthur noted blandly that it needed to be cut soon, so it was curling lightly around his neck. His cloak was billowed out around him, the fine silk of his shirt sticking to his chest. He looked so distinctly rumpled that it made Arthur’s chest strangely warm. Instead of letting Merlin realize how his presence affected him, Arthur rolled his eyes and stood, putting the hammer in the belt of tools he wore. 

Merlin was looking at him strange, his eyes unfocused and his mouth slightly open, like he had hit his head. Arthur assumed he was still half asleep, so he hummed softly. 

“Did you sleep well? Sire,” Arthur tagged on as an afterthought, a teasing smirk on his lips. Merlin smiled at him in response, a lazy heat in his eyes. Like there always was when he just woke. His stomach clenched.

“Alright, I suppose. Your mattress was hard, but better than the ground last night. You weren’t there. When I woke,” Merlin stated abruptly, before flushing and looking down. Likely hadn’t meant to say that, Arthur thought absently, heat entering his chest at the words. 

“I uh, noticed the stairs were loose. Figured I’d fix it up. Before we headed back to Camelot, that is.”

Arthur was sure that Merlin’s neck was going to ache later with how fast he whipped his head up, eyes wide as he stared at Arthur. Arthur felt himself get nervous as the silence stretched, the prince just staring. 

“That is… if you still want me to return with you. Sire.”

Merlin shook his head, looking dazed. 

“No, no that’s fine. Are you sure? You don’t have to-“

“Yes, _Mer_ lin. I’m sure. Now stop being such a girl. Dinner is almost ready anyway.” 

He knew it was the right decision. His destiny led him to Camelot and while he never much cared for destiny, he figured it would be a cop out if he gave up so soon. Besides. He wasn’t a quitter. 

(He didn’t think about how he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Merlin. That was too girly.) 

He would still miss home when he left, though. Life here was simple. Easy. He could fix problems with the whack of a hammer and the force of his blows. It was easier than whatever he had facing him in Camelot, he was sure of it. But he didn’t regret his decision. And it was _his_ decision. He’d never say it, but he felt that he’d probably follow Merlin to the ends of the earth. 

“I must have been asleep longer than I had thought,” the prince mused, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. He looked so much like a child Arthur couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. Merlin’s glare just made him look more adorable, though, which made Arthur laugh harder.

Before Merlin could retaliate, there was a furious pounding on the door. Arthur turned and narrowed his eyes. Who would be so frantic at this hour? 

Nervous, Arthur bounded down the stairs and stopped before the door, hand itching at his side. He didn’t have his father’s sword, having put it down when he’d grabbed the hammer, and he was kicking his past self for his stupidity. However, whoever it was, was still pounding away incessantly. His mother had exited the kitchen, a worried frown on her face as she looked at the door. Not expected company, then. 

Squaring his shoulders, Arthur threw open the door, eyes hard as he prepared for whatever he was about to face. 

He wasn’t prepared to have a slight hand almost rap against his chest, the offending appendage still in motion from when it was about to slam on the door. Arthur grabbed it before it could hit him, almost offended at its daring. 

“Hey, watch out!” He chided, scowl on his face. He was about to demand to know who it was that was knocking on his door at the late hour when the figure removed their hood, wide eyes staring at him in shock. A large smile bloomed on his face, then, though he would later deny it until his dying day. 

“Morgana!” He exclaimed, unexpectedly pleased to see his half-sister. It had been over eight months since he had seen her last. He figured he had some right to be glad to see her. Even if she was unbearably annoying at times. 

“Arthur!” She exclaimed back, her face also alit in shock and pleasure. At least he wouldn’t be alone in his mortification later. He then had his arms full of his older- though much shorter- sister, her arms squeezing him tight. Ha. He was so going to tease her about this later. Right then, he accepted it and wrapped his arms right back. 

“Morgana?” He heard a shocked voice ask behind him. Arthur half turned, arms still around his sister, to see Merlin looking down at the girl strangely. It was almost like he… but no. That was impossible. 

Morgana lifted her head up and stared right back, even more shocked now than when she had seen Arthur. 

“Prince Merlin! What on earth are you doing here?” She blurted, confusion clear on her face. She stepped away from his embrace and entered the house, eyes not straying from the baffled prince. Huh. He stared dumbly at the two, questions racing in his mind. He supposed they did know one another, then. But… _how_?

“I came here to help! Against the sorcerers! What are _you_ doing here?” Merlin shot back, climbing down the last few stairs.

“The same thing! Why would you come to Fayford?” Morgana shot back, her eyebrow raised. Before anyone could say anything else, though, he saw Freya pop into the entrance way, eyes wide with shock and a deep joy as she stared at his sister. Huh. This was officially getting weird. 

“Lady Morgana!” Freya cried, before launching herself at his sister. To his deepest shock, Morgana didn’t resist at all, and instead just gasped with bloody _delight_ , arms wrapping around the other girl fiercely. 

“What on earth is going on?!” He heard himself shout, but the two embracing girls either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. They were now just staring at one another with fucking _stars in their eyes_ , like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Had he gone mad?! Was this just a normal thing now?! 

He heard Merlin laugh as the prince bounded over to his side, eyes alit with mirth. 

“You didn’t tell me you knew Morgana,” the prince cried, slapping his shoulder slightly. It barely hurt but Arthur glared at him like he’d gone insane.

“I didn’t know _you_ knew her. How was I supposed to know that? I can’t read minds, Merlin!” 

Merlin laughed at that, his beautiful, bell like laugh. Arthur scowled and turned away, only to gag as he watched the two girls whisper softly to one another, lost in their own world. Fucking hell. 

“Perhaps we should give them a moment alone,” his mother chimed in, eyebrow raised at her son. Arthur scowled and was about to object when he heard Morgana giggle. Giggle! Christ, he was going to be sick. Slightly green, Arthur nodded and followed Merlin into the kitchen, where Gwen was standing, looking highly amused. And not at all disappointed. He refused to believe she was disappointed. Why would she be at all disappointed?!

He needed a drink. 

As he walked over to their liquor cabinet, ignoring his mother’s noise of complaint, he grabbed the strongest whiskey they had (which wasn’t very strong, but it was better than nothing) and grabbed a few glasses. He placed them on the table and poured himself three fingers worth. Then he downed it without even blinking an eye. 

“Impressive,” Merlin intoned, eyebrow raised. Arthur didn’t bother to comment, just held the bottle out in question. After a second, Merlin nodded, taking a seat at the table. Gwen followed, so Arthur poured them each a glass. He didn’t down it that time and instead sat as well, hoping that he’d forget the star struck look in his sister’s eyes sometime soon. There were some things a man never wanted to see, and his sister being googly-eyed for someone she had no right to even _know_ was one of them. Silence descended around them as his mother went back to her cooking, shaking her head mildly with a smile on her face. 

“So. How do you know Morgana?” Merlin questioned, his drink still mostly there as he sipped it lightly. His nose would scrunch up adorably, Arthur noticed absently, whenever he took a sip. He then berated himself for thinking the prince was at all adorable. He wasn’t, he thought meanly. He was ugly and stupid and dumb looking. Ha. 

“I should be the one asking you that. How, on earth, did Morgana come to know the royal family? Has the whole world gone mad?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, taking another sip. His nose wrinkled again. Arthur resolutely looked away, scowl on his lips. He pretended the flush on his face was due to the fact he had drunk so much alcohol so quickly, on an empty stomach no less. It was the only explanation. 

“She visited several months ago with a band of Druids. She stayed around for a month or so. She and Freya grew… close. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you still haven’t explained how you know her,” Merlin pointed out accusingly, eyebrow raised. It looked too much like Gaius’s Dreaded Eyebrow that he mentally shuddered. 

“She’s my sister,” Arthur finally explained, slamming back the remainder of his whiskey before pouring himself another glass. He had a feeling he would want to be drunk before facing his sister ever again. “Well. Kind of. We share the same father.”

His mother let out a hiss of pain right then, sucking her finger into her mouth. Arthur stood with worry in his eyes, but she just waved him off, mumbling how she had burned herself. She bent over and grabbed their little medical kit from the cabinet, not looking at him as she tended to her wound. 

Arthur winced, sitting back down clumsily. He had forgotten, briefly, that while she had been kind enough to take Morgana in when her parents had died when he’d been eight and Morgana had been ten, it still stung her that her husband had been unfaithful to her. Oh, she had long forgiven him, she had assured him once with a strained smile, especially after his father had left (as she always called it), but he knew it bothered her at times. The alcohol made his tongue loose and he had stupidly forgotten. Before he could berate himself, however, Merlin distracted him, the prince humming softly, nodding sagely.

“Oh yeah,” Merlin mused, taking another sip. Another wince. It was adorable. Not. Adorable. It was _not_ adorable. Saved it. “I recall you mentioned a sister once. You didn’t say her name was Morgana, though. That could have saved us the confusion earlier.”

He said it like he was accusing Arthur. Which was totally unfair. Distracted from his mother, he turned to Merlin and made sure his ire was known. 

“Oh, shut up. I didn’t know you knew her. Or that Freya and she were… were… _canoodling_.”

Merlin snorted a laugh. His drink was only half gone but he had a flush on his face and a dopey grin on his lips. Huh. Seemed he was a light weight. Unlike Arthur, thank you very much, who wasn’t even tipsy. Arthur smirked at his thoughts as he poured himself some more whiskey. It was only his second…. No, third… no… well. It wasn’t a lot. The whiskey wasn’t even that strong. He despaired it. 

“Oh, I’d say they’re more than canoodling. More like… like… something.” Merlin finished his drink finally, nose scrunched up as he did so, sticking his tongue out at the taste. Arthur couldn’t help his laugh, even as he poured the prince some more. 

“I’d say. I’ve never seen Morgana act like that. And I’ve known her a long time,” Arthur commented absently. Gwen hummed at that, sounding skeptical, a soft blush rising on her face as all eyes fell on her. Arthur raised an eyebrow. 

“W-well. I, uh. Am not as surprised. Morgana has always been very, well…” Gwen trailed off, blush high on her cheeks. She held out her glass and Arthur absently refilled it, horror building in him. 

“Hold on. You’re telling me you _knew_ of her… proclivities? And you never told me? Gwen! I thought we were friends!”

It was betrayal of the highest order he felt. To think, he could have been teasing his sister for all these years about this. Gwen just rolled her eyes as she threw the drink back, face scrunched up, but less so than Merlin’s after a single sip. Ha. He knew it. Merlin was girlier than a girl. She held out her glass and he refilled it dutifully. His mother let out another noise of protest, but she didn’t say anything outright, so he figured they were fine. 

“Of course I said nothing. She’s my friend. And I know you, Arthur Pen… something. You’d be horrible to her. And it’s not her fault! So just, you know. Leave her alone,” Gwen sniffed, eyes darting over to Merlin. Luckily, the boy was finishing his second glass and hadn’t seemed to notice the girl’s slip. Good. Arthur had informed Gwen earlier that he didn’t want Merlin to know his family name, the one he adopted independent of his mother. She had asked why, but he’d just said it was important. She accepted that without any more questions, bless her heart. She was a good sort. Always had been. God, he loved her. 

The room went silent at that, Merlin looking like he’d eaten a lemon while Gwen was flushed bright pink. His mother tutted but gave him a fond look. Oh. Oops. Seemed he’d said that last part aloud. 

Hm. Perhaps he had drunk just a little too much…

Right then, Merlin took the chance to slam his whiskey down, barely wincing that time. He seemed… distressed. Hmm. Before he could do something stupid and ask what the matter was, Merlin thrust his glass towards him, eyes hard. Arthur did as his prince commanded and poured the whiskey. Merlin shot it down again, nose wrinkling just a touch. Huh. Maybe Arthur had underestimated him. Not willing to be outdone, Arthur downed his glass and filled his glass with another. 

“Alright, do you three not think you’ve had enough?” His mother questioned, disapproval clear in her voice. He didn’t get a chance to say anything before Merlin turned to her, eyes wide and an adorable (not!) pout on his lips. 

“Oh, but my Lady, we’re just having some fun. Tomorrow’s gonna be a hard day. We should enjoy ourselves while we can!”

He said it cheerfully, though the words were a bit grim. Arthur frowned, eyes squinting as he looked at the prince, who was chuckling at nothing. Hm. Maybe he was drunk. Perhaps his mother was right, he thought. Maybe they should stop. Then again... 

“While we can? I thought you had it all figured out. You- you were gonna do magic. Or something. Don’t tell me your magic’s broken?” Arthur questioned, words only slightly slurred. Merlin gasped in mock offense. At least… Arthur thought it was mock. 

“No! Never! My magics is jus’ fine! Jus’ meant. Ya know. Kinda of a battle. Might want to have fun. Plus, Freya and Mor- Morgan- Moraganana are awful to put up with. I assure you; we need more drink. Speaking of, my cup is empty. Fill it up, servant!” 

Okay. Merlin was drunk. Definitely drunk. Arthur should cut him off. 

Buuut, on the other hand....

He looked kinda cute drunk. 

Giggling, Arthur poured Merlin another. Then he filled up his own, as the previous one had gone… somewhere. His mother tutted again and shook her head but said nothing. Arthur offered Gwen some more, but she shook her head. 

“No, your mother is right. We should probably stop.”

“Boooo,” Arthur groused, wrinkling his nose. “You’re no fun Gwen. Merlin an’ I can ‘ave all the fun. Righ’, Merlin?” 

Merlin grinned sloppily at him, spilling his drink over himself a little. He just giggled it off, holding his cup out again. Well, when you put it that way… 

“Men,” Gwen tsked, before getting up to help his mother with the meal. Huh. He’d forgotten about that. Oops. 

A few minutes passed after that as he and Merlin got steadily more drunk. The bottle of whiskey was decidedly emptier than it had been when they’d started, but that was alright. They were having fun. 

Why had he never noticed how breathtaking Merlin was when he laughed, he wondered absently, swirling the whiskey in the glass as he watched his friend throw his head back and laugh uproariously. It was funny. He’d never seen Merlin look so carefree before. He realized absently that Merlin had always looked so… weighed down. Burdened. From responsibility, he supposed. It couldn’t be easy being the prince. 

_Being a king must be harder_ , a voice whispered in his head. He shuddered and took another gulp. 

Before he could pour himself another glass (his fifth? Seventh? Tenth? He didn’t know anymore. Hm. Probably not good. Buuut…) the cause of his sudden alcoholism walked through the doorway. Giggling and holding hands, staring at each other with lovestruck eyes. Oh, God. Disgusting. 

“What on earth is going on here?” He heard Freya ask, her eyebrows raised as she finally looked away from _his sister_ to look at Merlin. Merlin just made a face and took another sip of whiskey. Freya’s face turned white as she stared at him in horror. Huh. Funny. 

“Oh lord above. Who gave him alcohol?! He is most certainly _banned_ from ever drinking. How many has he had?”

Her voice was accusing as she turned her glare on him. He just held his hands up to show his innocence. Sadly, he was still holding the bottle of whiskey, which was clearly near empty. Oops. 

“Oh, come on Freeeee, ‘m fine. Ya know wha? You coul’ use sum. Arthur! Give them the alcoh- alco- drink.”

It sounded like a good idea, but the girls just snorted and shook their heads, Freya looking annoyed. Or maybe she didn’t. There were two of her, so he wasn’t sure which one was real. He squinted his eyes and frowned as he tried to figure the mystery out. 

“Has he at least eaten? He’s an awful drunk. One glass and he’s far gone. Anymore and we have to be careful. He once started stripping in the middle of a feast, claiming he was the lizard king and wanted to go join his people. After that, he was banned from ever drinking at feasts. It was bad,” Freya stressed, shaking her head. Arthur laughed uproariously at that, making Merlin glare pathetically. It was like watching a newborn puppy growl. Adorable. Or. Well.

“Freeee-yah! Nah nice! ‘M yer prince. Be nice ta me,” Merlin slurred, trying to stand before falling back on his butt with a giggle. Hmmm. Maybe the girls were right. Or, maybe they were just no fun. Arthur started pouring himself another glass (eleventh? Twelfth? What were numbers?) when he felt the bottle yanked from his hands. He felt his mouth drop open in shocked anger as he turned a glare onto the culprit. Of course. His mortal enemy. _Morgana_.

“How dare you steal from me. I’ll have your head!” Arthur growled, standing abruptly. He then had to take a minute to blink the stars out of his eyes. And why was Morgana spinning? He asked her to politely stop spinning so he could kill her. All she did was tut and kept on spinning. Rude. 

“Well, this one isn’t much better. He once started singing a love song to a goat, professing his undying love to it, saying their children would be beautiful. He sobbed horribly on Gwaine’s shoulder when we told him the goat was a boy. He said their love would find a way.” 

Hang on! Tha-that never happened! They had _agreed_ that had never happened. He took a step toward his enemy, blinking with confusion when she just disappeared. Like smoke. Poof. 

Though, as Merlin laughed heartily at the words, tears streaming down his face, he forgot why he was angry as he looked down at the prince, who was also spinning. In order to make him stop spinning, Arthur stumbled towards him and grunted as he hit the edge of the table. He then forgot what he was doing, blinking as the whole world started to spin. That was annoying. To make the world stop spinning, he decided to take a seat on the nearest chair. He frowned as the chair started wiggling under him. Since when did chairs wiggle?

“‘M nuh a chair! Gehoff!!” 

The wiggling continued, so Arthur just turned and looked at the chair, straddling it. The wiggling stopped, but he felt the chair shudder beneath him. He narrowed his eyes and squinted. Why did the chair look like…

“Merlin, when did you become a chair?” 

The chair giggled, and he felt warm breath fan over his neck as the chair leaned forward and wrapped arms around his waist. Huh. That was odd. Right? Did chairs move their arms? He was impressed. Chairs were clearly getting better at being alive. He felt proud of his chair. 

“‘M nah a chair. Bu’ I can, can be _yer_ chair. If ya. Wanna sit on me.” 

The words were soft and breathy, warm breath tickling his ear. He shuddered, leaning into the warmth. God. It was incredible. 

“God, I think I’m going to be sick. Can we make them stop? Please?”

Ugh. _Morgana_. His mortal enemy. He was about to stand and fight her, remembering suddenly that she had stolen from him with a burst of anger, but his chair just held onto him tight, refusing to let go. He’d get angry at the chair, but it was new to being alive. He figured he’d give it a pass. Plus, it really was comfortable he thought, resting his head on the chair’s warm chest. Wait. Did chairs have chests? Hmmm... he’d have to think on this later. When the chair wasn’t running clumsy fingers through his hair, humming softly. Did chairs have fingers? He had much to think about.

“I don’t know. I think they’re kind of sweet,” another voice stated, before it laughed. He knew the voice. Maybe. His head hurt and thinking wasn’t fun. So he didn’t think and just cuddled into the chair, which cuddled back. He loved his chair. He said so aloud, making the chair wiggle happily. 

“Okay, that’s it,” Morgana stated, before he was being ripped from his chair. Hey! 

He blinked up at Morgana’s unimpressed face, grimacing when she began to spin again. Ugh. He hated spinning. 

“Oh no, stay there, Merlin. You need to eat something or else you’ll never sober up,” the voice from earlier said. A dark-haired girl marched up to his chair and forced a bowl into its hands. Huh. Had Merlin always been a chair? Had he missed that somehow? Strange. 

He felt himself get pushed into a decidedly less comfortable chair (he missed his sentient chair dearly. This chair was stupid. It hadn’t even learned how to be alive yet) and grunted when a bowl got forced into his hands. He squinted down into it. Soup? When had he gotten soup? The world was mysterious. 

“If you don’t eat that, Arthur, I swear I’ll de-man you. Why on earth did you think getting drunk was a good idea? My God…” Morgana grumbled before she disappeared again. 

Food sounded like a good idea, though. He suddenly realized he was starving. He tried to figure out how to use the spoon but gave up after it rudely evaded him. Not willing to let a rude spoon best him, he brought the bowl up to his mouth and gulped the hot stew down. Only half of it landed on his shirt. He figured that was good enough. 

“I worry about him sometimes. Honestly,” he heard his mother tut as she came into view, frowning down at him. He beamed at her. 

“Mother dearest! Hello! Wha’ are you doin’ here?” He was on a ship after all. It was the only explanation for why he was swaying on his seat. Why would mother be on a ship? For that matter... why was he? 

He heard his mother sigh and he squinted up at her. He felt gentle arms around him as he was carefully helped up. He swayed a bit; the ship clearly having hit a rough spot. He’d only ever been on a boat once, and he’d gotten horribly sick. He felt like he’d be sick right now…

“Come, my love. Let’s get you to bed. Lady Freya will help bring the young prince, so you needn’t worry.”

With that, he felt his mother guide him through the room and up some stairs. He stumbled a bit but didn’t fall. He felt that was a success. Take that, ship! 

He groaned when his mother deposited him on the cold ground, his head spinning. He felt an object get pushed gently into his hands. It looked like a bucket. Hm. That was probably good, he figured, as he promptly vomited into it. Once done, a cold glass was pressed into his hands as the bucket was taken away. Hoping it was more alcohol, Arthur greedily drunk it, but frowned when all he tasted was water. Oh well. He was still thirsty, so he drank it anyway. 

Before he could stand to find where Morgana had gone (he still had to fight her, he realized. He didn’t remember why but it seemed important) he heard a commotion at the door. He looked up to see two figured fighting each other. Arthur hastily stood. If there was a fight, he wanted in! 

But the fight ended before he was able to stumble over, the dark-haired girl from earlier (Freya! he remembered with a smug grin) dumped the other figure onto the ground without much ceremony. The figure just groaned pitifully, looking up at the girl with hurt eyes. It was Merlin! He remembered Merlin. He grinned as he looked at his friend slash chair. 

“Fray-yah. Sto’ bein’ mean. ‘Snot nice,” Merlin grumbled, struggling to sit up. Freya just rolled her eyes and shoved a glass into his hands. Water, probably. Gross. Merlin whined but drank when Freya glared at him. She left the room after that, muttering something under her breath. He felt it wasn’t nice. He scowled after her and felt himself stumble as he tried to follow her. His knees buckled then, and he fell to the ground face first with a groan. His head hurt. 

“Arthur,” he heard a voice breathe, then felt warm fingers touch his hair. He let out another groan and flopped onto his back, blinking up into the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen. They stared down at him, wide and round and utterly perfect. He was speechless for a moment before he could find his tongue. 

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, lifting a lazy hand to touch the face above his. He felt warm breath puff against his fingers, before he managed to grasp that steady jawline. The skin under his fingers was smooth and warm. He moved his thumb and suddenly he was touching a warm lip, which opened with a soft gasp. He wasted no time in pushing his thumb into the warm opening, a pink tongue darting out to lick it, white teeth biting it so gently it almost tickled. It was funny. He laughed. Then the face was gone, but he felt a warmth creep up next to him. He looked over and saw Merlin on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

“You’re incredible,” he heard Merlin mumble, before those blue eyes were staring at him again. This time there was so much warmth and comfort there that he nearly cried. He turned onto his side, facing the other boy, his arm falling to the side, almost touching the boy beside him. He saw Merlin do the same. It felt unbearably intimate. His head cleared a little as his world narrowed to Merlin. 

He wondered, absently, why he had never noticed how beautiful Merlin was. Well, the answer to that was clear. He always had. He just pushed it away. It seemed tragic, now. 

The pair stared at each other for several long moments, their breathing easy and slow. Arthur had a feeling of unease pass over him as the time drew on. He didn’t like it. 

“Are you scared?” He heard himself ask, voice small. He didn’t know why. His stomach churned and he didn’t want to think about the reason. 

“Of what?” Merlin breathed back, eyebrows knit in confusion. 

“Of the sorcerers. Of facing them. There’s at least twenty. That’s a lot.” 

Merlin hummed, closing his eyes. It was tragic, Arthur felt. He’d miss their light. 

“Not really. I’ve faced dang’rous foes before. Maybe just a little. E’ryone always says I’m the best warlock in Albion. But… I dunno. I won’t be alone, though. You promised me that.”

Merlin was smiling at him now, soft and sweet, eyes still shut tight. It made Arthur’s stomach roil with emotion. 

“Never. You’ll never be alone. I swear to you that. I’ll stay with you through it all. You have my vow.” 

Whispered words that felt like they meant more than they should. He didn’t know want he was saying. It felt true, though. Merlin just hummed, shaking his head slowly. 

“You can’t promise that. ’ve done nothing to earn that. ’m not worth your devotion. I don’t know why you even care. You’ve always hated me,” the boy beside him whispered, eyes fluttering open to look at him with so much sorrow it hurt. It seemed they had gone into the depressed part of being drunk. Arthur had enough sense left in him to realize this, and suddenly hate it. 

“Never. I’ve never hated you, Merlin. Even when I first met you, I knew there was something more. Felt it. In my bones. We’ve got a bond, you know.”

“Liar,” came the whispered response, but it sounded fond. Merlin smiled at him lazily, eyes twinkling in the rapidly fading light. Arthur wrinkled his nose and conceded. 

“Yeah, alright. But in my defense, you were such a prat at the beginning.”

Merlin laughed again, a puff of air against his face. It smelled like whiskey. Perhaps they shouldn’t have drunk so much. He was beginning to regret his decision. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I just… you looked so beautiful when you were angry. I didn’t understand why I felt... but now I do. I do. I wish I didn’t. But I do.”

And his eyes were so focused that Arthur wondered if he’d used magic to sober up. Cheater. But then he noticed the labored breathing and the way he seemed to sway even on the ground. So perhaps not. 

They fell into silence after that. Merlin began to snore lightly next to him, making Arthur smile. There was something comforting about the sound. 

As he stared at the boy he was bound to, he remembered a version of the story that was told about the Prophecy. His Prophecy. He remembered hushed voices telling about the Once and Future King and his loyal warlock. They whispered about how they King and Warlock shared everything together. Even a bed. Arthur had been confused at that, as he’d only been nine at the time, but had eventually realized what they had meant. He’d heard similar versions of the tale, some claiming it was a noble love. Others saying it was sick and forbidden. Most didn’t mention that part of the tale, making him wonder if there was any truth in the story or if it was a fanciful retelling of the true Prophecy.

He wondered, now, where the actual tale would bring them. If they would actually succeed in their task. How they would go about it. Arthur knew already that Merlin was a good sort. He wouldn’t ever be as cruel and unjust as his father. Maybe all he had to do was wait. Wait and watch as Merlin took the crown, as he became the king Arthur knew he would become. Maybe the Prophecy was wrong. Maybe Merlin was the Once and Future King. Maybe Arthur was only ever a side character. A supporting role. Never meant to be in the spotlight. 

If only, he thought wearily, as his eyes drifted shut. He thought about getting up and moving to the mattress he knew was nearby, but as he felt Merlin move subtly against him, he felt it would be a tragedy if he moved from the warmth he felt enter him from the area Merlin was unconsciously touching him. 

And if he subtly moved closer until he could wrap his arms around his master- his prince- well. 

He was still very drunk. 

That’s what he’d blame in the morning. 

Right then…

Right then he was too tired to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Morgana! Not entirely sure why I had her and Freya be together, but I find it kind of cute. We don't get to see much of it, since this story is told from both Merlin and Arthur's perspective, and I doubt they'd be super interested in their semi-siblings relationships, ya know? 
> 
> Also! Please don't think that Arthur was trying to be homophobic. He mostly had a problem with the fact it was Morgana, rather than anything else. As a younger sibling, I can attest that seeing your older sibling with a boy/girlfriend can be... icky. I do apologize if Arthur seems rude or homophobic in this chapter, though. It was mostly unintended, and only afterward did I notice that it seemed homophobic, since I was more focused on the whole "sibling dating=GROSS!!" aspect of it all. Arthur can be an idiot, though, so some of his comments were meant to be seen as dumb and ignorant. I can try and change it around if it really bothers anyone, though. Just let me know! :-D 
> 
> Anyway, I'm about to collapse, so night, all! I'm having a water balloon fight with the children tomorrow, (they're insisting) so I have to be well rested for that, aha.


	12. Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!! 
> 
> Warning: The beginning of the Gwaine/Merlin content begins at the end of this chapter. Next chapter (which I'll post tomorrow, if I remember) is entirely dedicated to that ship. It's the only chapter in this fic that contains only Gwaine/Merlin, and the only chapter that contains smut. It can be skipped, which is why I'm posting outside of my usual schedule, so that people can just... elect not to read it. I will post a brief summary in the end notes of the next chapter, though, so you can know the details that will be brought up in later chapters. 
> 
> Other than that, this chapter does have some important plot building, so hang around for that. Also! Merlin uses spells in this chapter, and the (Google translated) translations are available at the end. Sorry if you actually speak Gaelic or Latin! Google isn't the best at translating things, aha. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Why did alcohol exist? It was evil, Merlin decided. Very, very evil. When he was king, he’d outlaw alcohol and the entire kingdom would rejoice his decision to slay the evil liquid. 

Something beside his head moved, creating a loud sound. As his head pounded, he decided banning the liquid was too kind. Could one execute alcohol? He’d have to look into it. It was a worthy cause. 

He let out a little whimper when he heard loud movement outside, causing him to shuffle closer to the warmth that he was cocooned against. Funny. He’d never felt so warm and comfortable when waking before. There was warmth all around him, clinging to him. If his head weren’t in such agony, he was sure he’d be the most comfortable he’d ever been. He pressed closer and felt as the warmth welcomed it. Welcomed him. 

He felt a warm puff of air hit his cheek, smelling sour, which made him wrinkle his nose. He’d still not opened his eyes, everything hurting, but he heard the masculine groan by his ear. Hm. That probably wasn’t good. He wiggled, trying to figure out what was going on without having to open his eyes. The groan sounded again, as the warmth pressed against him deliciously. 

“Merlin. I swear, if you don’t stop making those little noises, I will not be held responsible for the treason I’m about to commit,” a sleepy voice mumbled across from him, in the same place those groans sounded from. Hmmmmmm. That was most definitely not good. 

Before he could panic about the strange man in his bed (only, wait, he wasn’t in a bed. He was on the floor. Why was he on the floor?) he felt the warmth settle around him, encompassing him. Warm fingers danced across his back while warm lips settled against his neck. It was like a kiss, but not quite. It was so unbearably intimate, and Merlin had no idea what was happening. But it felt nice. So very, very nice. He stopped struggling and just let himself be held, so warm that for a moment, he didn’t mind his aching head or his loss of memories. If the warmth could hold him for the rest of his life, all the pain in the world would be worth it, he felt in that moment. 

Sadly, the peace was not meant to be. As Merlin felt himself begin to drift off, a loud noise by his head startled him awake, causing him to flail as the warmth did the same. 

“Come on, you two. Wake up. Arthur, your friends are here and they’re making a mess of the living space. Stop cuddling and get dressed.”

He had no idea whose voice that was. It was feminine and dry, and maybe a little familiar? But his head was aching so bad he didn’t know what was up and what was down. Ugh. 

He felt the warmth be ripped away from him, which made him open his eyes abruptly, regretting it instantly when light assaulted his eyes. Great. Ow. 

“I’m sorry, your highness, but I’m taking this one to deal with his friends. You can sleep if you’d like.”

“Unhand me, Morgana, or it will be the last thing you ever do,” a masculine voice called, sounding both angry and winded. Wait. He knew that voice. It was…

“Arthur?” Merlin questioned, sitting up even as his world rocked back and forth. He fought against the nausea in his stomach and blinked his eyes slowly. He looked up and saw Morgana (ohhhh, right, she had arrived the other night. And she was… Arthur’s sister? Was that right?) 

“Shh, not so loud Merlin, please?” 

“Oh, come on you big baby. This is all your fault. If you hadn’t drunk so much-”

“Well, if _you_ hadn’t been all moony eyed at Freya, I wouldn’t have had to resort to drink, now would I? So you’ll see, dear sister, this is all _your_ fault.”

Merlin moaned, head pounding. He wished the pain would stop. The world was spinning, and he was about to throw up if it didn’t. Suddenly he remembered a couple words that felt like they were important. 

“Scoir an ceann ag gortú,*” he heard himself mutter, before the pain was suddenly, blissfully gone. Oh, thank god. Magic was a wonder sometimes.

Blinking his eyes against the now not painful light, he looked up and had to suppress a smile when he saw Morgana struggling with a wriggling Arthur, the man cursing up a storm. Merlin laughed, causing Arthur to curse some more. He stood, a little uneven since the spell he cast left the user a little disoriented for a couple minutes after. Still better than the raging headache he had previously had, though, so he felt it was a good tradeoff. He made a mental note to thank Gaius profusely once he returned. The older man had taught him the spell after all, following his first time getting drunk when he was sixteen. Gaius had shaken his head and was very disproving, but he still taught him the spell and that was what mattered most, truthfully. 

He took a few careful steps toward the pair and gently grabbed Arthur. He was prepared to have to fight the man, but the second he touched the boy, Arthur settled down and stopped wriggling. Hm. That was lucky. 

“I can take it from here, Lady Morgana. Thank you. And sorry, for, you know. Him.”

He grinned at Morgana’s laugh, Arthur grumbling at him, though he didn’t fight. 

“Alright. Thank you, your highness. Your belongings are over there by the window. Lady Freya brought them up while you were asleep.”

Merlin nodded his head, pretending he didn’t see the little happy smile on the other girl’s face. If he was being honest, he was happy for them. The drinking had been more because he hadn’t wanted to be excluded. And then Arthur had said… well. It was best to not think on it. He thanked Morgana again before she exited, rolling her eyes towards her brother. 

Once she was gone, Merlin helped Arthur stumble over to the wooden chair in the corner, grinning at the rumpled glare he was given. 

“Why are you so chipper? You looked like death not ten minutes ago,” Arthur grumbled, squinting adorably. Merlin’s grin widened, shrugging casually. 

“Maybe I’m just special,” he claimed lightly, laughing when Arthur’s glare intensified. He considered letting his servant suffer for a while longer, enjoying the pitiful state he was in, but decided he didn’t feel like being cruel. He whispered the spell again, with a couple of changes to direct it towards another and smiled softly as Arthur’s shoulders lost the tension they held, a pleased sigh escaping the too full lips. 

“Oh, thank merciful heavens. Have I ever said I love magic? Because I do. Honestly. If you ever wanted Gwaine to be your friend forever, use that spell on him. I think he might kiss you if you did. On second thought, never use that spell on Gwaine. Bastard doesn’t deserve relief,” Arthur mumbled, shaking his head as he blinked around the room. As his eyes fell on Merlin, they heard a loud shout from downstairs. Merlin remembered, heart sinking, what Morgana has said about Arthur’s friends. Hm. Would it be too cowardly if he hid up here for the rest of his life? Probably. Pity. 

“Come on. We should probably get dressed and see what those bastards want. They won’t yell at you, I promise. They’ll have me to face if they do, and they know better than to cross me.”

With that, Arthur stood with an ‘oof’ and wandered to the window where their packs were sitting. Merlin blushed bright red when Arthur began to strip, apropos of nothing. Gulping, he wandered over to his bag and began changing, himself, eyes resolutely on his own gear. 

He decided to wear his simplest outfit; a pair of fine linen trousers and an intricate blue cotton tunic that had runes written along the collar. It had once been a protection spell, but the magic had long since faded. He could reinstate the magic if he wanted to, though, which was why he brought it along. He felt he might need it. Whether against the sorcerers or Arthur’s friends, he didn’t know. 

Other than the runes, though, it was fairly plain, just a medium blue cotton. Then he, obviously, added his customary silk neckerchief. He had started wearing them on a dare from Will, but then it went on too long and he honestly felt naked without one now. And it made him smile, remembering his friend laughing at him the first time he wore one. His father had just stared at him in bewilderment the first time he saw it, but never commented on it, so he never saw a reason to stop. 

Arthur snorted at the neckerchief, as he usually did, but said nothing. Arthur was still shirtless, though, which made Merlin blush, averting his eyes quickly.

Finally, both boys were clothed and exited the room. As he stood on the landing, Merlin felt himself pause with apprehension, despite himself. He knew he should head downstairs with Arthur, but he felt strangely afraid. He could just head to the forest himself. It was fine. He didn’t need to deal with Arthur’s friends again. He really didn’t. 

Arthur must have noticed his apprehension, though, since he felt a gentle hand touch him briefly. Just a light touch. There, and then gone. He blushed, and vaguely remembered telling Arthur he actually liked his touches. Or maybe that was just a dream. He barely remembered the night before, even before he’d started to drink. There was a reason he rarely drank. He still remembered his father’s apoplectic rage after his “Lizard King” debacle when he had been eighteen. It was… not his finest moment. 

“Come on, sire. It’ll be alright. I promise.”

Merlin took a breath and let it out. He smiled thankfully at Arthur, who just nodded back. Well. Here went nothing. 

When the pair exited the stairway, silence descended through the room. All eyes turned towards them and Merlin felt his heart beat fast. Oh. God. 

“Alright. So, we need to have a plan. We have three sorcerers and ten men. More if we can enlist help from the rest of the village. Now. How can we go about this?” Arthur began, striding to the center of the crowded room. The men from earlier were seated around the room, as well as one more that Merlin hadn’t met the day before, along with Gwen, Freya, and Morgana. Elyan was there, as was Gwaine, both of whom were glaring at him. The rest of the men had their eyes on Arthur, seeming to not care about Merlin’s presence. Well. That was good, at least. Eight of ten wasn’t bad. Though… come to think of it, the new guy was also staring at him. But he seemed more curious, less angry. Did he not know who he was? God. He didn’t want to have to go through that again. 

“And Gwen. Don’t forget Gwen,” Gwen piped up, rolling her eyes. The men around her snickered. Arthur rolled his eyes back. 

“Yes, of course. How could I forget. Three sorcerers, ten men, and one Gwen.” 

“I say we storm their camp. Take them by surprise. We have enough swords and crossbows, it shouldn’t be a problem,” someone chimed in. It was the larger gentleman, with short brown hair. Merlin shook his head, reluctant to step into the spotlight but knowing he had to. 

“No. You cannot use weapons. My father, I mean the king, would have you executed if you even tried. He’d call it a rebellion. Non-magical means will not work,” Merlin explained, stomach roiling when all eyes landed on him. Most looked annoyed, while others were downright furious. Only the new guy didn’t look some level of pissed. He just nodded his head like he agreed. Hm. 

“And how would he know, huh? You gonna run home to daddy and tell him?” Gwaine questioned, snorting. A few of other men muttered in agreement. Merlin had to clench his jaw to hide his annoyance. 

“No. But he will find out. He always does. I’ve seen it before. And I will not be able to sway his opinion,” he warned. Gwaine glared at him. 

“Will not? Or refuse to try?” 

“Oh, I assure you I can try. The king won’t listen. He never does,” Merlin added softly, tone wistful. It was true. His father listened to no one. He trusted no one. Gwaine snorted, scowling, but said nothing more. Arthur piped up before anyone else could, looking annoyed, glaring at Gwaine. Gwaine just raised an eyebrow, sitting back with a shrug.

“Now, we need to have a plan. A magical plan. Prince Merlin. Do you have any ideas?” Arthur turned to him, eyebrow raised. Everyone in the room turned back to him as well, making Merlin sweat. He was used to people watching him. They had been all his life. It just never got any easier, even after all these years. 

“Well. I do have a plan, yes. But none of you are going to like it,” he warned. The men grumbled, glancing at each other warily. Arthur just held his hand up and the room silenced. Wow. He really was a good leader, wasn’t he?

“Now, now. Let’s at least hear the plan before we refute it. What is it, Prince Merlin?” 

Merlin took another deep breath and let it out. Well. Moment of truth. 

“I think we should talk to them,” he started, but promptly stopped when the room exploded in noise. Christ. It was worse than his father’s war meetings. Merlin couldn’t even hear anything with how loud everyone was, all of them talking over the others. 

“Silence! All of you, be quiet! Prince Merlin is here to help us, and I say we give him the benefit of the doubt before shooting down his ideas! Now, can you all be quiet, or do you want to be next week’s target practice?”

It was truly incredible the hold Arthur had on his friends. As soon as he spoke, they all fell quiet, though their anger was still clear. He wondered why they followed Arthur so willingly when he didn’t seem to have any higher status than them. He supposed they just respected him that much. Merlin could understand. He was a prince and thus was expected to follow no man. But, if he had to follow someone… well, he liked to think Arthur was the kind of man he’d be happy- and maybe even proud- to follow. So he could understand Arthur’s friends. It was still incredible to see. 

The room now quiet, Arthur nodded to Merlin to continue. He bowed his head in thanks. 

“I just mean. It’s always better to avoid battle if it can be helped. That’s what Gaius, one of my mentors, always told me as a child. To fight when there is no reason just causes unnecessary injury and death. I can speak with them, see what they want. Perhaps reason with them. Worse comes to worse I can scare them, make them listen. And if they won’t, then we can prepare for battle. But then, and only then.” 

“And why should we trust that you won’t betray us? That you won’t just go and help them?” Elyan called out, causing several other men, Gwaine included, to cry with agreement. 

Alright. Merlin was getting tired of this. He could take a lot. Could put up with a lot. But this was just going too far. The accusation didn’t even make any sense. Why would he come here if he were only interested in helping their opposition? If that were his goal, he would have had to leave Camelot at all to do it. As he felt his own anger rise, he felt his magic flare up, eyes flashing as a wave of power flowed through the room. It didn’t do anything, didn’t even break anything. It just made the papers flutter and hair tousle. It does the intended effect of making everyone sit up and take him seriously. For once. 

“I know you all hate me. And I get it. I really do. I love my father with all my heart, and I will never openly defy him. He’s my _father_ , not to mention the king I’m sworn to serve. But I know what his laws have done. I am not stupid. If I meant to betray you, I could just head back to Camelot and tell the king what I have heard here today. Hell, I could have said a word and never had to come here in the first place. The way you speak to me is enough to have you all hanged for treason. But I won’t. Because I want to help. I came here to help. So _please_. Let me help.” 

He could see the suppressed anger on their faces, but most of them seemed to understand what he was saying, sitting back with a grumble. Only Elyan seemed remained angry, even Gwaine electing to remain silent, and as Elyan opened his mouth to say something else, another voice spoke up. One he hadn’t heard before. 

“I think he’s right. To ride into battle when you’ve not exhausted all other options is suicide. The sorcerers would never listen to us. But maybe they’d listen to one of their own. Their prince. It’s a good plan. I’m Lancelot, by the way,” the man added, a smile on his face as he held out his hand. Merlin’s eyes widened as he took in the handsome face, recognizing the name. Ah. So this was Arthur’s competition, then. Well, he hated to say it, but he could kind of understand why. Merlin strode forward and clasped the man’s hand, nodding his head once. It was how he had been trained to address fellow Noble sorcerers. His father would have his head if he knew he’d shown such respect to a commoner, much less a non-magical one. The men here wouldn’t understand the meaning of his action, but he did. That’s all that mattered to him. 

“Thank you,” he said. And he meant it. 

“Yes, well. Good,” Arthur interjected, eyes hard and lips pursed. It was like he’d bitten into a lemon. “So, the prince and I will head into the forest and speak with the sorcerers. We should have terms that we wish for them to follow, demands or whatnot. Like for them to leave us alone or something.”

“Wait, hang on. Who said you’re going?” Merlin questioned, eyes narrow. Arthur looked at him like he’d gone mad. 

“Are you stupid? Of course I’m going! I already said I wasn’t letting you go alone, didn’t I?”

The way Arthur looked at him… it made something deep inside of him ache. Swallowing thickly, he nodded. 

After that, the group spent nearly an hour going over their plan, ironing out all the details. Arthur and Merlin would ride into the forest on their mares, who bore the King’s crest. Merlin would wear his cloak as well. Part of him regretted not bringing his crown, which would have made his position more obvious, but hoped it would work fine without it. 

It was determined that they would request the sorcerers leave and never return. Some of the men asked why Merlin couldn’t just arrest them, but as he wasn’t there officially, he had no power to do so unless he wanted to tell the king about how he’d lied to him. The best they could hope was that the sorcerers bought the lie that the king demanded they leave. 

It wouldn’t help the other towns they attacked, Merlin thought privately, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. Perhaps, if he gotten a letter from a wounded party, he could side with them officially. Had this village been any village other than his servant’s, he’d have had Arthur or Gwen do that. But his father was a highly intelligent man. He’d question why Merlin would side with a non-magical town against a band of sorcerers, no matter how criminal. And if his father made the connection between the village and Arthur…

It was best not to think on it. This way was safer. 

It was decided they’d go that afternoon when the sun had reached its zenith. They had a few hours left before then, so the meeting was adjourned, the men heading to their various jobs. Gwaine had stopped for a moment, as he headed out the door, and just stared at him. Merlin had been afraid, for a moment, that Gwaine meant him harm, but the man just stared at him. He wondered what the man saw in him that made him crook a crooked smile and nod inappreciably. After that, the man left, leaving a very confused Merlin behind. 

Soon, though, it was just him, Arthur, and the women in the house. He let out a sigh as he sat at the kitchen table. Lancelot had been one of the last to leave, but the man had thanked him for his help before he left, smiling a bittersweet smile over at Gwen. She had been carefully not looking at him, which put more credence to the story that there was a triangle between her, Arthur, and Lancelot. But that wasn’t his place. He wasn’t even a contender, so what did he care? 

Arthur say across from him, groaning from what he assumed to be exhaustion. 

“Ugh. Well, I’d say that went pretty well. Outside of those first few minutes there. That was a neat trick, by the way. Handy,” Arthur mused, putting his chin on his fist.

“I hadn’t really meant to do it,” Merlin admits, grimacing. “I was just fed up. Honestly, you’d think they’d be smart enough to realize that they were committing treason by yelling at me. I honestly don’t care, but if I were who they thought I was, I could have had them killed. I don’t get it.”

Arthur looked at him fondly, shaking his head with a chuckle. 

“Well, _Mer_ lin. It’s like this. They don’t care what you could do to them. It doesn’t matter that you’re a prince and could send them to their deaths. It’s about freedom. About being who you are, damn all consequences. If you were the prince that we always thought you were, they’d still defy you, up until the ax came swinging down. That’s just the type of people they are. We are, I should say. We don’t bow to unjust men.”

Merlin stared at Arthur for long moments, Arthur staring back. Eventually, Merlin dragged his eyes away, staring at the ground. 

“I guess that’s why you’re always so insubordinate. I swear, hearing you call me ‘Prince Merlin’ not once, but thrice almost shocked the life out of me. Not to mention all the ‘sires’ and ‘my princes’. Ugh. Almost made me want to check to see what horrible spell you’d been put under. It’s not like you, to be so respectful. Not that I care,” he chuckled, looking up at Arthur to see his reaction. To his surprise, Arthur looked deadly serious, almost grave. It made his throat run dry. 

“That’s why I follow you, you know. You told me, once, that you’d done nothing to earn my devotion, or whatever. But you have, Merlin. You could have had me hanged any number of times, for hurting or insulting you. Hell, I’d probably have executed myself if I were in your place. Part of me was even expecting it, that first week. But you didn’t. Because, despite everything, you are a good man. And that is why I follow you. Why I never left.”

It was suddenly very heard to breathe. The words Arthur spoke… they had been soft, intimate. Made only for his ears alone. His eyes bored into his own, like they were begging him to see the truth in his words. Merlin could feel tears trying to creep their way up into his eyes, but he valiantly beat them down. Instead he let out a shaky laugh, more a hard puff of air than anything else, and pushed at Arthur’s shoulder with his hand. And if it lingered for a moment too long, turning almost into a caress, well. He was only human. 

“And I thought you weren’t a girl. Maybe we should change your name to Artemis, huh? Get you a pretty dress and some hair bows?” He teased, trying to keep the rasp out of his voice. He didn’t quite get Arthur’s obsession with calling him a girl, as he thought there was nothing wrong with being a girl thanks ever so, but it seemed to be the thing the boy would do in this situation, so Merlin followed his lead. To his luck, Arthur lost the serious look in his eyes and snorted, reeling back and staring at him in mock anger. 

“Artemis? That’s the best you could come up with? Fucking _Artemis_. You really are a wonder, Merlin.”

Tension successfully broken, the two boys chatted casually, laughing at whatever funny thing the other said (and even some unfunny things). It wasn’t until he heard Arthur’s stomach growl that he realized they hadn’t actually eaten breakfast. Arthur’s mother had left before dawn, he had been told by Gwen, fetching some herbs for the apothecary while the world was still quiet. She had left them some food, they found, some fresh bread and jam. They ate in silence; the girls having gone outside to pick some flowers for Ygraine.

It was nice, he felt. Peaceful. Merlin knew that in a few short hours they would be riding into the forest to deal with renegade sorcerers, but it was nice to spend a quiet moment with his friend. 

The girls returned at some point and they all entered conversation together, Arthur trying to tease Morgana for her proclivities but getting thoroughly chewed out by all of the women in the process. Merlin had just laughed, but secretly a bit of tension had wormed its way into his heart. Arthur hadn’t seemed disgusted or even angry at the fact his sister was courting a woman. But… well, he hadn’t really accepted it, either. He seemed to find it strange, a novelty. A joke. He didn’t know how to explain it, but it hurt something deep within him to realize this. If Arthur ever found out about his feelings…

But he wouldn’t, Merlin told himself, jaw clenched. Arthur would never find out how he felt. Not truly. He didn’t know how Arthur had failed to understand his meaning that night, but he was grateful he had. As long as there was a shadow of a doubt in Arthur’s mind, he would be safe. At least, that’s what he told himself.

A long hour past, then, the group chatting, even as the atmosphere grew more and more tense as the minutes passed. Finally, it was time. Merlin swallowed heavily as he headed upstairs to find his cloak. As he stood by the window, Arthur’s fingers fastening the clasp deftly for him, Merlin whispered the spell that would reinstate the protective runes on his shirt. Arthur stared as the runes lit up with magic, the shirt glowing softly. He didn’t say anything about it, though, so he figured he was fine with it. 

After that they headed to the stables where Ygraine had taken the horses. They mount them without a word, eyes hard and serious as they rode west to the forests there. It took them an hour to arrive, the sun high in the sky by the time they reach the forest’s edge. They paused briefly at the entrance, eyes meeting one another’s for a split second, before they entered the darkened woods. If Merlin hadn’t been practically raised in the forests beside Camelot since a toddler, he’d have been terrified. As it was, he felt his apprehension mount as the pair rode on. After all, these were not the woods by Camelot. These trees were unfamiliar and dark in a nerve-wracking way. 

It didn’t take long for Merlin to track the renegades out, his magic pulled to their camp. As they arrived, they found the camp empty, the firepit cold. Arthur had been about to dismount his horse and wander into the camp, but Merlin stopped him. He listened. Listened. And then…

There. 

“Vosmet revelare**,” Merlin stated, eyes flaring gold. Suddenly, the enchantment dropped and the dozens of men lying in wait for them within the camp were revealed. As they stood and raised their arms, magic spells at the ready, Merlin raised his hand and his eyes flashed gold. The men were immobilized, grunting in anger. 

“Who is your leader?” Merlin demanded, dismounting his horse and entering the camp at last. “I have business with him. We mean you no harm, we only wish to talk.” 

With that, he took off the spell, knowing it wouldn’t have held much longer anyway. He had to conserve his strength. While he was powerful, all power had a limit. And binding twenty-five (that he could sense) sorcerers would be a struggle if he held it longer than a few seconds. 

Luckily, the sorcerers didn’t retaliate, likely knowing at least some of them would face death if they tried. As he waited, eyes hard and face cold, a man walked forward, a cocky grin on his lips. 

“And to what do we owe this pleasure, boy?” The man asked, teeth glinting in the dim light. He was ugly, Merlin decided, with a bald head and rat-like features. He was wide built, though, and clearly had some muscle on him. Most sorcerers didn’t have need for musculature, their magic all the power they needed, but clearly this man had built himself up. Whether he was compensating for something, he didn’t know. He pasted a pleasant smile on his lips, the kind his father used when dealing with foreign powers. It looked pleasant on the outside but spoke of the power that he held within. Or something like that. 

“I am Prince Merlin Emrys, son of King Balinor Emrys, the Powerful. I have come here today to demand you leave these lands and never return. If you fail to follow my command, you will face the wrath of Camelot and all her army. Do you understand?” 

He said it with power and command, eyes hard even as he smiled. He let his power fill him, enough that the renegades could feel his strength, but not so much that they could figure out his weaknesses. It was a balance. A balance his father had taught him, back before the man had grown distant. Back when they could talk easily with another, not the awkward silence they dealt with now. 

After a moment of silence, the sorcerer burst out laughing, his men following suit. He felt Arthur tense beside him, hand drifting to the sword that Merlin had allowed him to bring. In self-defense only, Merlin had warned. 

“Oh, the _prince_ , he says. Of course, _your majesty_ , we’ll do whatever you say! Tell me, _boy_. If you’re a prince, then where is your crown? Hm?”

Damn, he cursed, the sorcerer eyeing him with a twisted grin. Merlin knew he could take the man with his hands tied behind his back. Blindfolded. But there were so many of them there that he didn’t know if he could take them all. Not without some serious damage to himself. He’d need to plan. To prepare. 

Perhaps he should have brought his crown after all, he thought wryly, grimacing.

“I am giving you one last warning. Leave, or you will come to regret it. Prince or not, I can end you all with a thought,” he menaced, though it was all bluster. He couldn’t. Not unless he wanted to tear himself apart in the process. Magic that powerful always came with a cost. And he didn’t know if he was willing to pay. 

The renegades just laughed again, their magic surging within them. Shit. It was time to go. 

“Venite relinquo***,” Merlin shouted, the men frozen again as he grabbed Arthur and ran to the horses. The boys scrambled up the horses as his spell broke. They galloped off as the sorcerers began hurling curses at them, Merlin hurling defensive ones back to keep them safe. He cast a spell to block any tracking spells they could possibly place (a spell his father had taught him after he had nearly been kidnapped by sorcerers his father had angered when he had been five), as well as wiped away the hoof prints they left in their wake, while the pair raced away, back to the village. 

They didn’t pause in their gallop until they reached the town’s edge, which brought them back in just under a half hour. The horses were breathing heavy by that time, which Merlin regretted. He hated making his beloved mare run so fast, but they needed to inform the others that their plan had failed. And that they needed to prepare for battle immediately. 

The one good thing was that the sorcerers didn’t know which village the boys hailed from, since Arthur hadn’t been there the previous times they’d attacked. And with his anti-tracking spell, they wouldn’t have been able to track their path or see them after the fact. This gave them some time to plan before they were found by the renegades. 

As they raced into the village, a cry was called up, so by the time they reached the stable to board their horse, half of Arthur’s friends had arrived. He now knew their names, which made it easier to identify them. 

“I take it things did not go well, then?” Gwaine commented lightly, a smirk on his lips but steel in his eyes. Arthur shook his head, looking grave. 

“No, I would say it didn’t. We should get everyone together. We need to plan a course of action.”

After that it didn’t take long for Arthur’s friends to come to them, back at Arthur’s house, which seemed to be a common meeting place of theirs. It was midafternoon by then, Arthur’s mother still at work. The other women were there, though, Gwen having left her job as a seamstress when Morgana went to get her. 

When they had all convened back in the living area, there was an air of anxiety. But there was also an eagerness there that made Merlin feel almost afraid. Those eager for battle, but had never faced it before, often weren’t ready for it, he had found. 

“So, what do we do now?” Ewan, the darker skinned teenage boy asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

“We fight, obviously. They’re going to figure out one way or another that our village was responsible. We have to take the fight to them. Be proactive,” said Leon, arms crossed. Merlin nodded, which seemed to surprise the others. 

“What? He’s right. But we fight my way. If we use magic, then the king cannot fault you. You’ll be safe from his anger.”

“Yeah, but we don’t exactly have magic, now do we? Only you and the two ladies have it. We’re not going to just sit by while you fight for us,” Percival, the larger one with short brown hair, stated. The rest of the men agreed quickly, nodding along. Merlin just grinned. 

“Oh, I know. Leave that to me.”

From there, Merlin explained his plan in as much detail as he could, the men around him looking skeptical but eventually nodding along. Only Elyan seemed distrustful, but Gwen and Arthur kept him in line. By the end of two hours, they had a plan outlined and ready to hash out. It would require a lot of planning and days of preparation, but Merlin felt that they could do it. 

And if his heart pounded, terrified that his plan would go wrong, as he’d never actually led a battle before, though he’d been trained to know how since birth? Well. It was the only plan they had. 

Their battle discussion was put on hold when Arthur’s mother returned home, the group deciding without a word that they had done enough for the day. Merlin had tasked several of the men with tasks to get done before nightfall, so it wasn’t as if they were doing nothing, so no one really complained. Ygraine offered to let Arthur’s friends stay for dinner, but most of them declined, claiming they would be fine, thanks. Only Gwaine and Gwen remained, the former doing so with a roguish grin, the latter staying because she usually did, Arthur informed him. While she still lived in her own home with her older brother, she spent most of her time over here, with them. Elyan usually stayed as well, but it seemed his hatred of Merlin had kept him away. Merlin didn’t know if he should be regretful of that fact or not. 

“So. That was exciting,” Arthur claimed as they sat around the table, waiting for Ygraine to finish cooking, Gwen helping, a grin on his face as he looked at Merlin. Merlin rolled his eyes back, but privately agreed. 

“Yeah, but we have to be careful. I was able to get a good estimate at their skill level, and we have our work cut out for us,” Merlin warned. It was Arthur’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“I know, _Mer_ lin, you’ve said that before. But we’ve got this. Your plan is solid, and we should be more than fine. Unless you doubt yourself?” 

Arthur looked at him with steady eyes, no hint of a question in them. Merlin hesitated, before shaking his head. It wasn’t really himself he doubted, though there was some self-doubt in there. 

“Nah. I just want you to know this is serious. I could probably do this alone if I had to, but it would be hard. With all of us working together, it should be easier. But more variables mean more chances for failure. If one part of the plan goes wrong, the whole thing could fall apart. We’ll have to trust each other for this to work. And,” Merlin continued, eyes darting to Gwaine, who was shamelessly listening in, “I don’t know if that trust is there yet. So, I guess, I’m just a bit nervous. That’s all.”

“Don’t worry, Princess number two! We’ll be fine. We all trust Arthur, and if he trusts you, well. Guess we better, too. Just don’t do anything to make us regret that trust, okay, Princess?” Gwaine drawled, a lazy smirk on his face, but his eyes were serious as the grave. Merlin looked at him solemnly and nodded. 

The problem was, though, that he wasn’t sure if he trusted them yet. But it was as Gwaine said. If Arthur trusted them, then perhaps he should, too.

“It will be fine,” Morgana claimed, shrugging her shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t think we even need you all for this to work in the first place. The prince, Freya, and I could handle it just fine alone. But no, you big strong men need to prove yourselves.”

She rolled her eyes at her words, a teasing grin on her face. Arthur just made a face back but was prevented from saying anything rude by the arrival of his mother with food.

As the seven of them began to eat, the conversation steered away from their upcoming battle and onto lighter topics. Such as the hijinks that Arthur and his friends got up to when they were younger. It was after he had finally finished laughing at a story Gwaine told about a massive bar fight that he and Arthur had valiantly escaped from, keeping careful to not give too many unsavory details away in front of Arthur’s mother, that dinner was concluded, everyone standing up to help clean up the mess. Merlin stood around feeling awkward for a moment, not sure how to help, before Ygraine smiled and handed him the leftover water she had from her cooking, which she had boiled the vegetables in. 

“You do not have to if you do not wish, your highness, but if you’d like to help you can bring that out to the garden and toss the water on the soil. It should help them grow faster. It’s just out behind the house, you can’t miss it,” she said with a smile, eyes twinkling in the dimming light. Merlin smiled back and nodded eagerly. He never really got the chance to help out much back at the castle, not with chores like this. It was strangely exciting in a way that throwing vegetable water on plants likely shouldn’t be. Ygraine just smiled brighter and thanked him kindly. Merlin excited the house feeling warm inside, like he was being useful. 

He liked it here, he thought quietly to himself as he poured the water over the plants. It was calm. Peaceful. Even with the threat of a looming battle, it felt nice to be here. Like he finally belonged somewhere. 

It was ridiculous, of course. He was a prince. He would one day be king. He didn’t belong in a little farming village, far from the bustling citadels. But maybe this could have been his life, had things been different. Had his father not taken over as king twenty years before. Maybe. He knew his mother had not been a Noble, so maybe he would have grown up with her, maybe in a village much like Fayford. It was possible. 

Merlin hadn’t realized he had been staring at the garden, lost in his thoughts, until he felt a hand grasp his waist, not quite roughly but definitely not gently. Startled, Merlin’s magic let out a blast, afraid it was the sorcerers from earlier, having found them despite his best efforts. Heart pounding, he turned around, blinking in confusion as he saw Gwaine groaning on the floor, rubbing his bottom as he stood gingerly. 

“Oof. Remind me not to sneak up on you again, Princess. Tell me, does your magic always blow people away like that, or am I special?” Gwaine questioned with a salacious grin. And then he winked.

Well, Merlin thought with a blush he tried to hide with a scowl. Seemed Gwaine was over his hatred of him. God knew why, though, or what he had done to achieve such a feat. He was just hoping it wasn’t a trick, something to get him to let his guard down. Regardless, it wouldn’t do to get too comfortable. Gwaine made him uneasy, for some reason.

“Just you,” he intoned, rolling his eyes. “What do you want, Gwaine?”

“Oh, what, I can’t want to learn more about my best friend’s new best friend? I’m hurt. I just wanted to get to know you, away from the others. Is that such a crime?”

Despite himself, Merlin felt his heart begin to beat fast. He knew he was a powerful warlock, and that his friends were inside not feet away, but something about this interaction made his sweat run cold. Something about how Gwaine mentioned wanting to get to know him away from the others. It just rubbed him wrong. It could be completely innocent, but… he built his magic around him, getting into a battle stance, eyes hard as he looked at Gwaine. Maybe he’d been wrong about the man no longer hating him. He’d been wrong about people before. 

“What do you want, Gwaine? Don’t make me hurt you,” he almost pleaded. He didn’t want a fight right then. He really didn’t. 

To his immense surprise, Gwaine reeled back, eyes wide with his own shock. Then the eyes narrowed, a frown rising on his pink lips. _More like a pout_ , Merlin mused absently, eyes drawn to them like a moth to the flame. It wasn’t his fault. They were really nice-looking lips. Gwaine put a hand to his chest in exaggerated hurt. 

“Princess, you wound me! I didn’t come out here to hurt you. I will admit, I was a bit… angry, when I learned who you were. I don’t like Nobles, you see. Royalty less. I thought for sure you were here to trick us, to hurt the lives we had built for ourselves here. I came to this village when I was fourteen, driven out of my old one by your father, and it has been the only home I’ve known since. I would defend it with my life,” Gwaine said, tone light but his eyes hard as stone. Before Merlin could say anything, the man continued. 

“But earlier today, what you said. Plus, what Arthur said last night. It made me rethink things. I suppose I haven’t been fair to you. After all, you did ride into that forest, which was awful brave. I want to get to know you. Not the crown you wear, or the magic you wield, but you. To see if there is anything worthwhile about you, or if you’ve just managed to trick Arthur into trusting you. Would you be willing to do that? Get to know a lowly, non-magical peasant?” 

He asked it like a taunt. Like he was baiting him. Merlin was honestly kind of impressed. Gwaine was amazing with words, a true wordsmith. And he was very, very charming. Merlin knew he shouldn’t get involved, knowing his father would kill him if he ever found out he did, actually, want to get to know the man. Not just because he was Arthur’s friend, even. But because Gwaine intrigued him. And he was oh so curious to find if the words from the other day held any weight to them or if Gwaine was just a helpless flirt who was all bark, no bite. 

“Yeah. I mean, sure, of course. I’d be willing to get to know you, if you wanted to. You know. Get to know me,” Merlin claimed lamely, wincing at how awkward he had sounded. Nice, Emrys. Real nice. 

Luckily, Gwaine just laughed, rakish grin on his handsome face. Merlin’s face burned a brighter red, the sound making his insides squirm. Gwaine looked at him with hooded eyes, the grin turning lazy and sensual. Butterflies began blooming inside him, fluttering drastically when Gwaine slowly made his way behind him, his arms wrapping around Merlin and lingering low on his hips, chest pressing firm against his back. Merlin couldn’t help the gasp he let out, blood rushing south instantly at the touch. Gwaine chuckled right next to his ear, breath hot on his neck. 

“Over there, the house at the end of the row. Do you see it?” Gwaine whispered, his hand trailing up Merlin’s side, before pointing to a house at the end of the street. Merlin nodded absently, wondering if this was Gwaine’s way of killing him. Arousing him to the point of death. 

“That’s where I live. Alone, since my mother died. Meet me there tonight, around midnight. Alone, unless you want to have a party. If you’re willing to trust me, that is,” the voice behind him breathed, the chest pressing tight against his back for one second, before it was gone. He felt bereaved, though it was probably for the better, as he had been about to pass out from lack of oxygen to the brain. As it was, he had to greedily suck in air as Gwaine sauntered away, down the street with amusement in his eyes and a smirk on his lips, leaving him standing alone in the garden like a fool. Oh, he knew. He knew what he was doing to Merlin. And, for some strange reason, Merlin felt suddenly afraid. 

Not that the man would hurt him, goddess no. Merlin had enough magic that he could take the man if he had to. But he was afraid of what Gwaine might want with him. Was the man being truthful, about wanting to get to know him? Or was he just taunting him, baiting him, only to hurt him drastically later? After all, Merlin wasn’t exactly being coy. He was transparent and he knew it. More importantly, Gwaine knew it. What he would do with that knowledge, well. That was what Merlin feared. 

Now he just had to decide. Did he go? Or did he refuse and possibly risk Gwaine’s anger?

Oh, who was he kidding, he thought with a look down to his tented trousers.

He knew what he was going to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *means “head cease hurting”, or quite literally, “quit the head hurting” in Gaelic. According to google translate, at least. I felt an Irish spell was the best fit, here. ;-)
> 
> ** means “reveal yourselves” in Latin, or more accurately “try to reveal.” Also according to Google.
> 
> *** means “let us leave,” in Latin, as that was the closest Google translate could give me to what I had wanted to say, which was “see no more,” but google would only tell me what “see more” was, which was not helpful. 
> 
> So, I have a confession to make. I am hella Ace, so I have no idea how sexual attraction works. Like, at all. I don't get it, it doesn't get me, and we're both very happy about that. So if the whole thing with Merlin and Gwaine seems odd, or fast, I apologize. I straight up don't understand all that, so it all seems fast to me. I can't tell if what I wrote is unrealistic, or if it's just me going "yeah, that seems fake, but okay."


	13. Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: sexual intercourse is had. It is mutual between two adults, so do not fear about that, though. Mild suicide idealization is had, but it's more like "I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole" out of embarrassment, more than anything. Still, I'm warning, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! 
> 
> As promised, the smut chapter is posted now. You can pretty much skip all of the smut part, and be completely fine. There's only one or two things that might seem a bit odd if you do so, but I wrote it specifically to be skipped, since, as someone who is Ace (which is shorthand for asexual, by the by, for those who were confused. That means I don't feel sexual attraction towards any and all genders), I don't like to read smut. And, as someone who dislikes smut, I figured I'd be kind to anyone else who dislikes smut and make it easy to skip it. I mark the smut areas with three asterisks (***), so when you see the asterisks, skip until the other three asterisks, and that's the smut section. And the smut is probably... very bad. As I said, I dislike reading smut, so I've just been skipping reading it each time I edit, as I just don't like reading that kind of thing. Why did I write it? ... I honestly have no idea. Wanted to see if I could? I felt it fit? I don't know. 
> 
> Fun fact: The day following writing this chapter was a really bad day, with my computer abruptly breaking a week before three online exams, a bad stomach virus, and absolutely no sleep that night. I'm like, half convinced that that was karma against writing smut, aha.
> 
> Anyway, I also added a summary to the entire chapter at the end of the chapter, for those who wished to skip the this chapter entirely. Like, I've never seen any author do something like this, but eh. Whatevs. 
> 
> Enjoy!

This was a bad idea. This was a very, very bad idea. 

And yet, he was doing it anyway. 

It was almost midnight, Merlin felt, though the lack of the bells of Camelot messed with his perception of time, somewhat. However, when he’d been a child Gaius had taught him how to tell time based on the position of the sun and the moon, allowing him to know when he should add ingredients to his potions and whatnot, so he felt he had a good enough grasp on what time it was.

It had been awkward, earlier, after Gwaine had left him following his... well, _request_. Having to head back inside with his groin still so tight against his trousers despite his best efforts to get it to calm down had not been fun. His face had been flushed and he knew Freya had suspected something, eyes narrowed as she asked where Gwaine had gone. Loudly, of course, garnering the attention of everyone in the bloody room. He swore, he was going to kill her later. 

Luckily, Ygraine has saved him, claiming that Gwaine had said he was getting tired, so he had wanted to head home. He had told her to send everyone his love and that he hoped they wouldn’t be too bereaved of his presence. She said it with a slight roll of her eyes, though she’d been smiling. 

The others had accepted her words, luckily, and had left him alone after that. Though, Merlin had noticed that Arthur’s eyes had lingered on him, narrow, with a curious little frown on his face. Merlin had tried his hardest not to blush harder, but he was sure he had failed. Miserably. 

The fact was, he had never really had any experience with, well. Anything. Especially around men. Part of him was positive that Gwaine was just teasing him, riling him up, but he honestly had no idea. It wasn’t like he could ask Arthur or Gwen if Gwaine had ever had relations with men. It would be too suspicious. After all, why would he care? 

But he was so curious. So very, very curious. He hadn’t been able to help the thoughts, late at night. Ones that, sadly, revolved around that arsehole Valiant and his damned kisses. As much as he hated the now deceased man, he couldn’t get those kisses out of his head. He sometimes, late at night, would imagine Arthur in Valiant’s place and would have to forcibly stop himself from grinding against the bed until he came. He refused to touch himself to thoughts of Arthur. It felt too much like betrayal. So he’d had to settle for the thoughts of Valiant, even though he’d hated it.

But now. Now he’d have new material, even if his endeavor here turned out to be a bust. Oh, that warm heat against his back… hmm. Yes, that would keep him warm for a long time coming. Pun not intended. 

It had been hard to get passed Arthur, however, after the house had collectively decided to head to bed. He and his servant shared the same room as the other night, though this time they were a respectable distance apart. Merlin was on the mattress again, while Arthur took the floor. Merlin had tried to protest, but Arthur, ever the valiant knight, had put his foot down and had insisted. However, because of his uncomfortable sleeping arrangements, the boy hadn’t fallen asleep easy, drifting in and out and waking at the slightest sound, clearly uncomfortable but wanting to tough it out. Merlin had been forced to rely on a sleeping charm Gaius had taught him once, grimacing as he did it. He hadn’t wanted to use his magic on Arthur, but it was important. He was lucky that Arthur took off the medallion he gave him at night, or else it wouldn’t have worked. 

But it did work. And now, here he was, shivering in the light breeze of the mid-autumn night, shuffling carefully towards the house that Gwaine had so deliciously pointed out earlier. 

Oh, this was such a bad idea. Why was he doing this? Yeah, he was a horny young adult who was going into his first real battle in a few days, but that didn’t mean he had to do something so reckless. Though, his dick clearly had other thoughts on the matter…

There was nothing for it, he reckoned as he reached the house, throat dry and knees weak. He was already there. Couldn’t turn back now, could he? Besides, he wasn’t a coward. He could do this. 

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he knocked quietly on the door, almost too quiet, not daring to break the midnight silence. The house was much smaller than Arthur’s, not to mention shabbier. Like no one was bothering with upkeep and just let the house rot away. Merlin had a second to worry that Gwaine had been lying to him about whose house this was, when he heard the now familiar baritone call out, telling him to enter. Well. No turning back now, he supposed. Point of no return. 

Taking in another deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, Merlin slowly opened the door, almost afraid of what he’d find behind it. 

Turned out, all that he found was a simple living room. There was a fire burning merrily in the fireplace, with a deep red rug spread out before it. There was some furniture scattered around the room, as drab and rundown as the outside of the house looked. 

And sitting in an armchair by the fire, hair combed back neatly and a red rose in his hands, a cheeky grin on his face, was the man he had come to see. 

“Well, you going to come in or are you planning on just taking root over there? I suppose you’d make a nice decoration, though you are blocking my doorway,” Gwaine mused, jolting Merlin out of his thoughts. He realized, blushing hard, that he’d been staring for quite some time. At least a minute. Closing the door behind him with a soft click, he entered the house, heart pounding as he went. 

When he reached the fire, Gwaine gestured to the other armchair across from him. It was moth eaten and looked like it was held together by loose threads, but it looked safe enough. Merlin sat, cautiously, and had no idea what to do next. He’d never had a midnight rendezvous before and didn’t know what the protocol was here. Did he say something ? Did he start flirting? Did he wait for Gwaine to flirt before he tried (and probably failed, if he was being honest) to flirt back?? He was jolted out of his increasingly panicked thoughts by a flower being shoved under his nose, causing him to yelp. Gwaine, the bastard, just laughed, smug grin on his stupidly handsome face. 

“Here. A rose for the pretty princess. I picked it myself. Thought you might like it,” Gwaine crooned, damned smirk on that damned face. Damn him. 

Merlin scowled, even as he took the flower and absently smelled it. It wasn’t his fault. They were one of his favorite flowers. He rolled his eyes when Gwaine just chuckled smugly. 

“I’m not a princess. Now, what do you want, Gwaine? It’s late and I’m tired,” he lied. He’d never felt more awake in his life. But he wasn’t going to make this easy for the other man. He was still so terrified of being made a fool. He wasn’t going to just spread his legs if Gwaine was just taunting him.

“Well, I had thought what I wanted was pretty obvious,” Gwaine mused, smirk still on that face of his. Before Merlin could snark back at him, Gwaine shrugged casually and sat back in his chair, a satisfied look on his face. 

“I wanted to get to know you, like I said. What you like. What you don’t like. Your favorite position. That sort of thing.”

Position? Odd. Why did Gwaine care about battle positions? Was he asking for their battle later? Scowling harder, Merlin bit out a reply. 

“I like sleeping in a nice warm bed at midnight, I don’t like obnoxious men who lure me out of my bed for mysterious reasons, and my favorite position would be defense, I suppose.” 

He looked on in bewilderment as Gwaine burst out laughing, howling in mirth as tears began to stream down his face. What? What had he said? 

“Oh! Oh, Princess. You slay me. I honestly can’t tell if you were being honest or if you’re just that naive.”

At Merlin’s confused look, Gwaine softened, leaning forward like he was telling an intimate secret. Despite himself, Merlin felt himself lean forward as well, suddenly eager to hear what the man had to say. 

“I didn’t mean battle position, buttercup.” At Merlin’s bewildered look, Gwaine smiled softly, chuckling. “I meant sexual position.” 

Oh. Ohhh. Oh!

Gwaine burst out laughing again as Merlin turned beet red, spluttering in his embarrassment. Ah, shit. This is why he didn’t do things like this. He was painfully bad at it. Still, it was better than the times he’d tried to woo women. Those times had ended in fiery disaster. And now he couldn’t even blame it on the fact he was gay. 

“Oh, you naive little lion cub. You’ve certainly come to the right place if you want to gain experience in that field. I can show you all sorts of naughty things that’ll make your delicate princess sensibilities buckle, I promise you that. But first, I would like to get to know you. Let it never be said that I’m a careless lover. Come, let us have some wine.” 

With that, Gwaine stood, that rakish grin back on his face. The look he gave Merlin was full of such heat that he wondered if he hadn’t fallen into the fire behind him. Luckily (or not) Gwaine looked away, chuckling again, as he sauntered into the small kitchen. On the dining table laid a flickering candle and a bottle of wine, two glasses set at opposite sides of the small table. Another rose was sitting in a small vase at the center of the table, by the bottle of wine. Huh. Gwaine must have spent some time preparing this. He felt impressed despite himself. Then he shook his head, realizing that the man probably did this sort of thing all the time, which was why he was so well prepared. He fought down the hint of disappointment at the thought. After all. It’s not like he hadn’t known how big a flirt Gwaine was. It was kind of obvious.

Standing cautiously, Merlin made his way over to the table, sitting in the chair that Gwaine wasn’t standing beside. He placed his rose in the vase with the other, making Gwaine chuckle again. He didn’t say anything, though, just opened the wine and began to pour. It was a healthy amount. If Merlin drank that entire glass, he’d never remember the events of that night. And, regardless of how it ended, he didn’t think he’d want to forget what was currently happening. What might still be to come. 

“So! Princess. Tell me about yourself. Hobbies. Pass times. Favorite wank material. I want to learn it all.”

Merlin scowled at the other man but saw only a teasing smile under surprisingly kind eyes. It seemed he was actually being honest. For once. 

And so, taking a deep breath, Merlin began. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~

It was exhausting, he found, talking about himself at length. Gwaine just kept asking question after question, following up an answer with another, deeper question. Merlin blushed at some of the things he was asked (“who was your first kiss?” Pause. “… Freya.”) but most of it was rather tame. Favorite color. Favorite food. Simple things. 

Then Gwaine would dig deeper. Why did he like the color blue? What had inspired his choice of fresh caught fish to be his favorite meal? 

Why did he kiss Freya when he was very, very obviously interested in men?

That question had made Merlin gasp, eyes wide as he looked up from his small sip of wine. Despite Gwaine’s encouragement, he’d still not drunk even a quarter of his glass, and was not preparing to drink much more. But at the question, he suddenly longed to be very, very drunk. The question had come out of nowhere and left him wrong-footed, not to mention confused. Was he truly so transparent that even a relative stranger knew? God. Did his father know? Oh, gods and goddesses above, please no. 

The pregnant silence lasted for a full minute, Merlin faced towards the floor with tears stupidly climbing in his eyes (ugh. He hated being tipsy. He got more emotional than usual. And he was a pretty emotional person, usually), when he felt gentle fingers touch his chin. He gasped when he looked down at Gwaine, the man suddenly right in front of him, instead of across the table. He hadn’t even heard him move. 

“Hey. Hey, don’t be upset, Merlin. It’s alright. Nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve been attracted to men myself for quite some time. Men are quite fine, if I do say so myself. Can’t blame you for being interested.” Gwaine winked at him at that, though his hand was still gently caressing his face, moving from under his chin to caressing his cheek. Gwaine had drunk a lot more wine than he had, at least two full glasses. Merlin wondered if he was drunk. He didn’t look it. But who knew. 

“But…” Merlin started, before abruptly stopping. He didn’t know how to phrase his questions without offending his host. And he very much didn’t want to do that. Not after the promise Gwaine had made him earlier, about teaching him some… things. But Gwaine just looked at him, an encouraging smile on his face, so he bit the bullet. He’d blame it on the wine if Gwaine got mad. 

“You also like women,” Merlin blurted, like he had said something awful. Gwaine blinked at him, confusion on his face. 

“Uh. Yes. Women are also very beautiful, their curves soft and delicate. Not like a man, who is rough and hard. Both are equally delicious, though in very different ways. What is your point?” 

Huh. That… he hadn’t known… well, Freya had mentioned something like that, about how people could like both, but he’d never…

“That’s possible?” He questioned, eyebrows furrowed deeply. At Gwaine’s questioning look, he expanded. “To like both. Men. And women. At the same time.”

Gwaine looked at him for a second, before chuckling, shaking his head. Merlin was about to be offended when he felt that warm hand trail upwards, into his hair. He let out a soft moan when the fingers pulled, completely unbidden, his groin suddenly tight against his trousers. It was mortifying, but the sensation of rough hands, carding gently through his hair...

“Oh, you truly are green behind the ears, aren’t you, my cub. Tell me. Where have you been getting your information? Who have you been with? Intimately, I mean. If you don’t mind my asking.” 

Merlin blushed, but the wine made him brave. Though he stammered, he was able to get something out. 

“W-well. No one. I guess. M-my father has always kept me away from any boy my age. And you don’t play with girls when you’re a Noble. It’s improper. I only ever had Freya, and she was so nice to me that I… well. Thought I loved her. I would hear whispers, around the castle. Talking about, you know. Men. Being with men. Or women being with women. But it was always with disgust. Or cruel amusement. It was never… never considered something good. Freya told me it was fine. To love or want someone of your sex. But I… I never heard that you could like both. I thought it was one or the other. Never both.” 

Gwaine hummed, gently running his fingers through Merlin’s hair, tugging lightly as he went. It was driving Merlin mad. He was flush and painfully hard, panting against Gwaine’s hand. 

“Have you ever been with a man, intimately? Or a woman, other than the beautiful Freya?” 

He felt his cheeks heating impossibly warmer. He wanted to look away, but Gwaine wouldn’t let him, keeping his eyes steady on his. He gulped as he answered. 

“Kind of. Not really. There was a sorcerer, from one of my father’s tourneys. He took me into the gardens and pressed me up against an arch. He kissed me. But he then later tried to kill me and so my father had him executed. I’ve kissed some girls before, but it was only ever chaste. Nothing really deep. It never made me feel much. But I do like girls. I think,” Merlin whispered, though he was having a hard time concentrating, with the hand still running through his hair. He had no idea how long he had been here, in this house, but he was so painfully aroused. He didn’t think he’d survive if he didn’t get some relief soon. 

He heard Gwaine hum after his words, deep and rumbling across from him. Merlin’s eyes had slipped shut at some point, and he opened them partially then, staring at Gwaine with hooded lids. Gwaine was looking at him right back, licking his lips slowly. 

“So you’ve never had anyone show you the ropes. Help you explore what you like. Or don’t like. Interesting,” the man muttered, almost to himself. A slow smile then appeared on his face. It was so much like a wolf’s smile that Merlin couldn’t help the shudder that went through him. 

“I could teach you,” Gwaine breathed, leaning closer, lips almost brushing his. Oh, God. “Show you the things you’ve been missing. I don’t do relationships, so don’t go getting all clingy on me. But we can have a bit of fun, while you’re here. Would you like that, my lion cub? Would you like me to fuck you senseless?” 

Oh, fuck. Holy shit. 

Fuck. _Yes_.

Finding himself struck dumb, Merlin could only nod furiously, making Gwaine chuckle again. But before he could do anything else, or even take a breath of air, he felt two warm lips press against his. And then he thought no more. 

***It was nice, he would have thought, if he had any brain capacity left. The pressure. The heat. It was so much better than when Valiant had kissed him that it wasn’t even funny. And the hands. Ohhh, those sinful hands. They roved his body, up and down, under his shirt. Teasing his nipples. Squeezing his arse. It was so tantalizing. So invigorating. So… god, he had no words. It was just so _good_. And _right_. And bloody _perfect_. 

He had no idea why he had ever thought he could be straight. If being gay felt this good? Fuck those naysayers. Maybe literally, he thought with a breathless laugh, which turned into a heady groan when Gwaine bit down hard on his neck and started to suck gently. Ohhhh fuck. If fucking felt this good, he never wanted to do anything else. And he’d not even been touched yet. Not there. But if Gwaine kept teasing him like this, he wasn’t going to be able to hold out long…

It was when Gwaine actually touched him, fingers light on the bulge of his pants, that he felt himself cum so hard he shouted, absently hoping that no one was around to hear him. His magic fluttered around him as he came, making the room fill with a warm breeze and a soft golden glow. Gwaine inhaled at the show of power, but he just looked thrilled by it. 

None of it helped stop his mortification. He’d barely been touched, and he had cum like a prepubescent boy. He didn’t know much about sexual encounters, but he had a feeling they usually lasted longer than a handful of minutes. He heard himself babbling apologies, muttering nonsense words, when Gwaine shushed him, nuzzling his cheek gently, lips trailing kisses along his jaw down to the impressive bite mark he could feel on his neck. Thank god he usually wore neckerchiefs or else that would be awkward to explain the next day. 

Now that he’d had some of his arousal waned (not all, definitely not), he was able to think again. And realize how desperately he still wanted the man above him. 

He was still seated in his chair, he noticed, which he thought was strange. It was not very comfortable, either. As he wiggled, discomfort evident, Gwaine chuckled yet again. He did that a lot. Merlin must be hilarious to get such a reaction from the man. 

“Come, my cub. Shall we see the best room in my house?” He whispered sensually in Merlin’s ear, causing him to whimper. Ohhhh, he hoped that he knew what Gwaine meant. 

Nodding enthusiastically, he felt Gwaine lift him up, the boy yelping as he felt himself get swept into strong, muscular arms. Ohhhh yes. He’d just uncovered something he hadn’t known he liked but now desperately did. 

As Gwaine carried him effortlessly through the house, into a back room, Merlin couldn’t help but notice how surprisingly gentle Gwaine was being. When he’d first heard Gwaine taunt him when they’d first met, he’d thought he’d be rough. Rough and quick and dirty. But he was wrong. Gwaine was a lover, sensual and caring. Oh, he was still very dirty, but in a good way. A fun way. He actually felt like he was being taken care of. Gwaine had told him he wasn’t interested in a relationship, which Merlin understood. He still loved Arthur, even as Gwaine carried him presumably to bed. But this… this was different. This wasn’t love. 

This was sex. 

And while, as a child, he had confused the two, he knew now they were different. 

Though, he mused, as Gwaine entered a room and deposited him gently on a surprisingly soft bed, running careful fingers through his hair, he felt that maybe part of him would always love Gwaine after this. They would never be together, the two too different to work as a couple. They both wanted different things. Gwaine wanted a casual fling to share the night with, while Merlin longed for something permanent. Something lasting. Something that wouldn’t be taken from him, ever. By anyone. Not even his father. 

But here, in this moment, in the soft moonlight as Gwaine looked down at him with a tender look in his eyes, like he genuinely cared about Merlin and wanted him to be comfortable and cared for and maybe even loved, if only for the night? Oh, yes. He could definitely find it in himself to love this beautiful, surprisingly tender man. 

And when he watched, helpless, as Gwaine began to strip, teasing smile on his lips, he wanted nothing more in life than to spend eternity in this moment. He suddenly knew why people adored sex so much, why they raved about it. This could easily become addicting. 

Gwaine was slow as he took off his clothes, making a show of it. With each layer that was removed (and there were a lot, he noticed. Probably for this reason exactly. Damn had Gwaine been prepared), Merlin felt his blood boil more. It was incredible. Gwaine was incredible. 

Finally, the man got to the very last layer, a thin piece of undergarment that barely hid the giant bulge he could see straining against the thin fabric. Ohhh, good lord. He had no idea how sex with a man worked but he was so eager to learn if _that_ was his teacher. 

Before he removed the last layer, though, Gwaine tilted his head and pouted adorably. Merlin whined at the teasing look. He took it all back. Gwaine was a scoundrel and a cheat and a horrible, horrible lover. 

Gwaine just chuckled again, before climbing onto the bed, stalking Merlin on all fours. He whined again. Never mind. Amazing lover. Best ever. 

As he felt Gwaine climb on top of him, the warm heat pressing down on him, he felt himself getting hard again. It was painful and kind of sticky, making him wiggle again. Thankfully, Gwaine took pity on him and began to remove some of his layers, this time. 

The first to go was his shirt, soaked with his sweat. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was to see the man take a long whiff of the shirt before he ripped it off him, pupils blown. Merlin didn’t worry about the shirt being damaged, since it still had the runes protecting it. He then had no ability to think about anything as Gwaine began kissing a hot trail of kisses down his sternum, lingering on the scar he had gotten from Valiant. 

“How did you get this?” Gwaine panted, kissing the scar harder, again and again, like he was trying to heal it by the power of kisses alone. Merlin couldn’t help the whine that was released, his mind too overstimulated to think. He babbled something about Valiant, which seemed to satisfy Gwaine. He moved on, then, kissing lower and lower. 

And then his mouth was right above his groin, hot breath washing over the clothed heat. Oh, God. He was about to cum again and he still had barely been touched intimately. He would have been mortified if he wasn’t so goddamn horny. 

He felt careful fingers gently undo his fastening and laces that held his trousers up, then felt as they slowly, so very slowly, were pulled down. He wanted to cry at the torture. He thought he actually might have, a desperate sob releasing from his throat. Gwaine just shushed him, kissing the top of his thigh tenderly. 

“Shh, Shh. Don’t worry, my darling. I’ve got you. No need to cry. I’m right here.”

God. He wished, suddenly, fiercely, that Gwaine could love him. Could want him forever. That he could love Gwaine back. He wanted this for the rest of his life. To never have to leave this perfect moment. This perfect man. 

But, even as he thought it, as Gwaine finally rid him of his sodden trousers and kissed his thighs with abandon, he knew that, deep down, he didn’t. He still loved Arthur. His heart beat only for him. Gwaine was incredible and he would share a special place inside his heart forever now. But he’d never be the entirety of it. Not like Arthur was. 

He had a brief moment. A tiny second where he imagined what it would be like if it were Arthur touching him. Arthur making him squirm so beautifully. And, as he thought that, he felt lips, finally, _finally_ press against his warm length. And as he came, so hard he saw stars, he was almost positive he screamed a name. He only hoped it was the right one. 

Seeing as how Gwaine was just chuckling, looking up at him through hooded eyes, he assumed it was the right one. He smiled lazily back, leaning heavily against the numerous pillows on the bed. This was clearly where the majority of Gwaine’s money went. On this bed. Glorious thing it was. 

It was then that he realized he had cum twice now, while Gwaine still hadn’t cum once. Shit. Talk about an ungracious lover. 

Merlin tried to sit, then, reaching out for Gwaine, mumbling something about wanting to take care of him now, but Gwaine just shushed him again, like he was a naughty little boy, and whapped him rather roughly on his stomach. As he gasped, pain mixing with pleasure, Gwaine tutted at him. 

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m in charge here, your highness. I make the rules. Understand?” 

Clearly, control was a big thing to Gwaine. His eyes were soft but his expression hard, hands gently caressing Merlin’s thighs, up and down. Up and down. While he was so utterly spent, having cum twice in one night, a record, he could feel his cock valiantly trying to rise again. So he just nodded, dazed, and laid back down with a thump. 

Pleased, Gwaine went back to what he’d been doing before Merlin came the second time, face nuzzling his crotch like it was a new religion. Part of Merlin was disgusted, thinking about how it had been days since he had washed and surely it couldn’t be cleanly to be so close to the thing he pissed out of, but he had no time to protest before a warm heat was mouthing him through his small clothes. And suddenly, he was hard again. Not fully, he didn’t have it in him for that just then. But halfway, at least. 

Gwaine moaned against his length, the vibrations doing delicious things to his insides. Ohhh dear lord. He was going to die. This was how he died. Having sex for the first time and dying of overstimulation. How tragic. 

And then. 

Then. 

Gwaine had ripped his small clothes down, letting out a pleased noise at the cock he had freed. 

And then. 

_Then_.

He felt a warm, wet heat wrap around his dick. 

He was dead. He knew he was. There was no way you could feel such pleasure on earth. No goddamn way. 

He moaned, high and keening, sounding suspiciously like Gwaine’s name, which made the mouth around him vibrate as Gwaine answered his moan, deep and heady. The heat went up and down on his length. Up and down. He felt warm, rough hands squeezing the base, fondling his balls, but he could barely focus on any of it. It was all so incredible. So amazing. He adored it. He was pretty sure he was babbling about how he loved this, loved Gwaine, but the man just chuckled around him. And that damned chuckle was completely forgiven now that it produced that sensation in him. God. 

He was about to cum again. He knew it. He tried to hold on, but he felt it coming. But just as he was about to let go. Just as he was about to die from his third orgasm of the night. 

The heat disappeared. 

“Oh, you cocksucking, mother fucking, son of a goddamn bitch,” he distantly heard himself groan, uselessly humping the air, moaning at the loss of the heat. He heard a laugh at that, an outright laugh not the damn chuckle, which soothed him somewhat. It wasn’t Arthur’s laugh, which was hearty and husky and glorious, but it was a very nice laugh in its own right. 

“Oh! What a mouth you have, Princess! I’m honored to hear you use it on me. Maybe one day I’ll put that filthy mouth to good use. But I have a feeling that would fry that pretty little brain of yours. And I happen to like your brain, so let’s not do that, hmm?” 

Merlin could only watch lazily as Gwaine sat up, digging his hands into the sides of his own under clothes and pulling them off in one fell motion. It was frankly impressive.

Not as impressive as the cock that had just been released. Dear mother of God. He could have cum simply from looking at the glorious thing, though he held it off. 

He’d never seen another cock before. Only in a little diagram once, when Gaius had been explaining what sex was to him. However, that had been a very mortifying experience and not at all tantalizing, which is why he quickly pushed it from his mind as he refocused on the massive thing before him. He didn’t know if it was large in general or just large compared to him. But he liked to think he had a sizable package, so he had a feeling Gwaine was just Large. Ohhh he had made the right decision coming here today. 

“How does it work?” Merlin heard himself whisper softly, breathlessly. Gwaine laughed again, making Merlin flush as he realized how it sounded. 

“N-no,” he hastened to explain, when Gwaine opened his mouth teasingly, a grin on his face, “I meant sex. With another man. I, I know how it works with a girl. Tab A goes into slot B. But uh. I don’t exactly have a slot B. You know?” 

Gwaine, mercifully, moved on from his blunder and hummed softly. 

“Sure, you do,” he mentioned, sounding amused. At Merlin’s confused look, Gwaine hummed again, before leaning over and lifting Merlin up gently. He then felt a warm finger probe at his anus, making his eyes go wide. OH! “Just gotta be creative.”

Gwaine tsked as he saw the shock and slight horror that Merlin was sure was showing on his face. Well sorry! He hadn’t ever had anything put… _up there_ , so he was kind of freaked out. Was this even a normal thing or was Gwaine making it up? How would that even begin to feel pleasurable? _Would_ it be pleasurable, for him at least? Before his racing mind could cycle downward anymore, Gwaine just chuckled again. That bastard. 

“Oh, don’t worry, my dearest heart. We won’t be trying that today. I’ve blown your mind, in more ways than one, enough. Maybe tomorrow, if you’re up to it. We can do other things for the moment. Other, equally delicious things. Scooch up, will you, my love? We’ll need some room.”

The casual terms of endearment that Gwaine called him was doing things to his head. Honestly. He did as Gwaine asked, though, half sitting, half lying on the headboard of the bed, eyes dark as he watched Gwaine crawl up towards him, stalking him like he was prey. As the man reached his head, he felt lips attack his once more, Gwaine battling him for control. Merlin gave it willingly, yearning for that glorious tongue. It tasted strange, now that it had licked away his drying spunk, but it wasn’t bad. It was kind of tangy. He maybe, kind of, liked it. Christ. He was going insane. Gwaine moved off to the side for a moment, grabbing something from the bedside table, putting it on his hand. Merlin didn’t have time to question what he was doing. 

Because then. _Then_. 

Gwaine pressed his length fully against Merlin’s. 

And it was _glorious_. 

Gwaine set the rhythm, panting into his mouth as the man finally allowed himself to touch his own cock. Merlin thought the man must have liked delaying himself, his own mind starting to fritz out as he tried so hard to hold on. He didn’t want to cum again. Not before Gwaine did at least once. 

But Gwaine was making it so very hard, his hand now squeezing their cocks together, the pressure so very good. He didn’t know why they slid so easily together, thinking there should have been more resistance, but he didn’t care. He cared about nothing but the breathy moans above him, the man who had taken him apart so utterly and thoroughly now being taken apart himself. All because of Merlin and his cock. Well. He was probably giving himself too much credit, but he liked to think he was at least partially the cause of Gwaine’s incredible, breathless panting. 

“That’s it, Gwaine. That’s so fucking good. Oh, I want to hear you cum, please Gwaine. Fucking cum all over me,” he heard himself moan, though he didn’t know what he was saying. He was so utterly mindless. It was like he was drunk but a thousand times better. 

Before he could give it another thought, he felt Gwaine spasm above him, warmth painting his stomach as the man cried, a sound that was suspiciously similar to his name. Ohhh God. Gwaine got two pumps in before Merlin was following him, screaming Gwaine’s name. He sure as hell hoped no one was awake and listening to them. He’d never be able to look them in the eyes if they were. 

As he felt Gwaine collapse on top of him, utterly boneless, he felt himself chuckle, before stopping in disgust. Oh, good. Gwaine had infected him. Well, there were worse things to be infected with in life than chuckling all the time. 

“Ohhh,” Gwaine moaned from atop him, arms wrapping around him as he adjusted so he was no longer crushing him. “I knew you’d be good. I fucking knew it. Seeing you up on that horse, so goddamn gorgeous in the sunlight. I knew you’d be the best fucking lay. So innocent and sweet looking but a greedy whore in bed. Ohh, this was the best fucking idea,” Gwaine panted, planting lazy kisses along his neck and sternum. Merlin laughed lazily, trailing lazy fingers along Gwaine’s back. Best idea, indeed. 

***

”We should do this again sometime,” Gwaine muttered softly against his chest, nuzzling closer, practically purring as Merlin brought his fingers up to his hair, doing what he vaguely recalled Gwaine doing to his hair earlier, the gentle tugging and petting. The long hair was now damp with sweat, but it still smelled sweet, like some kind of flowers. He wondered blithely if Gwaine had bathed in preparation for their lovemaking (could he call it that? Was that what they had done? He honestly didn’t know. It had felt so tender to him, but maybe it was just an everyday fuck to Gwaine. He liked to think it meant more, though. He was almost afraid to ask). He probably should have bathed himself, but he hadn’t really expected this to go anywhere. He’d have to ask the man for the chance to bathe in whatever tub he had, if only to wash off the sweat and cum that was cooling unpleasantly on his skin. 

“Hmm? What do you think Merlin? Want to do this again sometime? Or have I actually scattered your brains with my cock?” Gwaine asked again, lifting his head to look at Merlin with one amused eye. Merlin tutted, tugging the head back down to lean against his chest. He was still half leaning against the headboard, but it was strangely not uncomfortable. 

“Both, I think. Give me a minute. I need to restart my brain. I never knew sex could be like that. You’re so fucking good. God,” Merlin marveled, eyes shutting as he breathed, the salty scent of sweat and cum filling the air. Gwaine laughed against his chest, a soft puff of air against his heart. 

“Course I am. I am the God of Sex after all. I have graced your mortal life and now I fear I have ruined you for all other partners. You are welcome, and I am sorry.”

Merlin laughed at that, lazy fingers still running through Gwaine’s hair. God, he wanted to sleep, but he was so uncomfortably sticky. He figured he’d ask about the bath. 

“Hey, Gwaine?” He asked, hearing the man make a sleepy sound against his chest, snuggling closer. He almost didn’t want to bother him, but his stomach was starting to itch from the drying cum. “Do you have a bath?” 

Gwaine lifted his head up, squinting, then sighed, letting his head drop. But his eyes were open, no longer lazily closed. 

“Should have known. You posh types always like getting cleaned immediately. Would a wet rag do, or do you want the whole nine yards? It’d take me a while to get the water and the heat it, but as I said, I’m nothing if not a gracious lover. Whatever my heart wants, he gets.”

Merlin snorted, though his cheeks heated up. Gwaine and his damn endearments. 

“I highly doubt I am your heart, unless I was truly that good. And considering I spent most of it lying there and moaning, I’d doubt that too. But you wouldn’t have to get the water or heat it. I know a spell that can take water from the air, and since it’s so humid, likely about to rain soon, I should be able to get enough water, no problem. And heating it would be a cinch. If you have the tub, I’ll be good.”

Gwaine looked at him in wonder at that, shaking his head in amazement. 

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love magic? Because I do. I might want to try learning the damn stuff now. But you shouldn’t sell yourself short, my love. I assure you, for this night, and any remaining nights we may share together, you are indeed my love. My whole heart. I will be sad to see you go, though I know your heart belongs to another. And mine belongs to the countless women and men I will meet in my life. It is the way we were destined to be. Though I don’t think I’ll ever forget you, Prince Merlin Emrys. Definitely not. And besides. Now that you know what you like, I can teach you how to pleasure others, too. Maybe help you find a way to make Arthur writhe in pleasure as you finally pop his cherry.”

Merlin started at that, eyes wide as he looked down at the amused eyes of Gwaine. 

“Wh- I have no idea- what are you, I mean, I-“ Merlin stammered, before Gwaine cut him off with a tender kiss, filled with suppressed laughter. 

“Oh, my dearest love. Don’t try and lie to me. After all. You practically screamed his name the second time you came. Not to mention how pitifully you stare at him. And how pitifully he stares back. If I hadn’t been trying to bed Arthur for years, nearly succeeding at times mind you, I’d have been surprised to see him look that way at another man. But now, seeing you, holding you, hearing you scream my name? Oh, Arthur is a lucky man. If he ever gets his head out of his arse, that is.”

There were… many things he could focus on in that sentence. The thing that did catch him was likely not what he should have focused on. 

“You’ve tried to bed Arthur?” Merlin asked, incredulous. He felt a touch of jealousy. He had no idea who towards. 

Gwaine just laughed again, before sitting up with a stretch. Merlin mourned the loss of his heat instantly. 

“Of course that’s what you focused on. Yes, of course I have. The minute I set eyes on him, gangly but still toned at twelve, I knew I would one day have him. In the nine years I’ve known him, I’ve yet to succeed, but I’ve gotten close. He would have the world believe he’s as straight as a ruler, but I’ve seen how his eyes wander. How he looks at me, when he’s had a few. The way his hands wander. The one time he kissed me he was drunk as a skunk. Could have had my way with him but I refuse to bed a drunkard. Can’t consent that way, and what fun is it if your partner can’t emphatically say yes? Tipsy, sure. That’s grand. Makes everything a bit more bright, colorful. Drunk? Nope.”

Huh. Well. That was… something. Explained why he woke up in Arthur’s arms, that morning. But Gwaine must be mistaken. Surely all men would have wandering hands when drunk as sin? He didn’t bring it up, stomach roiling too much. As Gwaine stood, legs only slightly unsteady, he took that as his cue to stand, too. He almost collapsed; knees weak as he saw the heat in the gaze Gwaine gave him, but he pulled through. He resolutely did not look at the package Gwaine was sporting. He’d never get his bath if he did. 

He followed the man, naked as the day he was born, though the house, only slightly mortified. All the blinds were drawn, and it was passed midnight besides, but it still felt wrong somehow. Wrong, and incredibly heady. 

They finally ended up in a smaller room, a storage room he suspected. Inside were a bunch of cluttered goods, as well as a smaller bed off to the side. He wondered absently if this had been Gwaine’s mother’s bedroom, recalling he mentioned her death. He then shook the thought away, thinking it too macabre for the current atmosphere. 

In the center of the room, though, was a gloriously big tub. Big enough for two, he thought, glancing at Gwaine through his lashes, only to find the man staring back at him, wolf grin back on his face. 

“Well, Merlin? Work your magic. _Dazzle me_ ,” the man commanded, his cock swelling as he lightly pumped it. Gulping, Merlin did as he was asked, the tub filling instantly, the water heating perfectly a second later with a few whispered spells. Gwaine groaned as he saw it, pumping himself a few more times ‘til he was fully hard. 

“Magic. Truly is a wonder,” the man gasped, before walking to the tub and sinking in, groaning in delight at the perfect temperature. He held out his hands in invitation, and, well. Who was Merlin to deny his host what he wanted?

And, if they managed to get a bit filthier before the bath was finished, well. Good thing he had magic and could just refill the tub. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~

There was something to be said about waking up in the arms of a man you loved. Even if only briefly, even if not fully. As he blinked his eyes open, smiling lazily at the warm, broad chest before his eyes, he stretched at the delicious ache in his muscles. Best idea ever. He heard a voice chuckle above him. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Sleep well?” Gwaine whispered, kissing him sweetly. They were naked, not having bothered to get dressed following their bath, and he could feel something hard poking against his side. He grinned as he grabbed it, relishing in the way that Gwaine moaned his name. 

When they finished, their bodies were tangled together on the linen (which Merlin had cleaned with magic before they’d gotten in, wrinkling his nose at the mess they had made. Gwaine had just kissed him breathless at that, almost making him want to have another go, but had realized that four orgasms in less than two hours had been his limit. It had still been nice, kissing the man lazily as he held him, warm arms wrapped around him, making him feel warm and safe. Before that moment there had been a lingering doubt that, amazing as it had felt, he was still doing something wrong. Something amoral. But as he fell asleep, Gwaine humming a soft lullaby, he knew that there was nothing wrong with what they were doing. Freya had been right. It didn’t matter who you loved, what you did with them. What mattered was the sweet feeling of being with them, loving them purely, if only briefly. That was important. That mattered). 

Gwaine hummed below him, chest rumbling, tapping his head lightly. 

“What are you thinking about, my love? I can practically hear your brain churning.”

Merlin smiled, kissing the other’s cheek as he sat up and stretched. 

“Thinking about you. And me. And how fleeting love is more incredible than I’d ever thought it possibly could be. If I weren’t already in love, you’d have ruined me, Gwaine, for all others.” 

He felt safe, saying that. It was funny. He’d only know Gwaine a handful of days, the other man hating him for most of them, but now he felt impossibly safe with him. Safe enough to let down the guard he had built up so firmly around his heart, determined to protect himself from breakage. And he knew. He knew he wasn’t fully safe. Knew he was risking everything by letting Gwaine in, even a little. But as the man just smiled at him, kissing him so sweetly, he found he didn’t care. Break his heart if he must. This moment, and all the moments they’d shared together in this house, were worth it. Worth the risk. 

And he was rewarded for his honesty with sweet kisses peppered along his lips and down his neck, over his collar bone and then decidedly more south. Merlin would have let it, but then the cock crowed outside, letting him know dawn had come, and he probably should get dressed. He hadn’t had much sleep the night before, but he felt incredibly well rested. 

“Well, I’m glad for that. Wouldn’t want to ruin you. Much, that is. You will promise you’ll remember me, though? I ask only that much,” Gwaine whispered, roguish grin on his kiss bruised lips. Merlin smiled back, his own lips as abused, he knew, and nodded solemnly. 

“I won’t ever forget you, Gwaine. Not in a million years.”

They got dressed after that, helping each other into their clothes. Gwaine had tried to get him to wear his clothing, but Merlin had protested, saying that people would know. And while he didn’t care what most people thought, he couldn’t have Arthur knowing where his preferences lied. He couldn’t stand that teasing he’d given Morgana, or worse. The disgust the other servants would have, talking of men lying together. He didn’t say this, not wanting to hurt the other man, but he thought that Gwaine understood, as he just smiled sadly and nodded in agreement, helping Merlin into his clothes from the previous day. He’d cleaned them with magic, but it wasn’t as good as washing them outright. Still, better than getting into dirty, sweat soaked clothes. 

Once done, Gwaine treated him to a homemade breakfast, a decadent spread of oatmeal with some fresh raspberries. Merlin had laughed at the simple dish, Gwaine’s romancing ways clearly not extending to the kitchen. When he’d teased the other man about this, Gwaine had just shrugged, stating he had tried to learn once, after his mother had gotten sick when he’d been sixteen, but he’d been so bad even Ygraine hadn’t been able to help. He knew how to make oatmeal and ate most of his meals at Arthur’s house, so it hadn’t been too big an issue. Merlin had just laughed, shaking his head fondly, though his heart had clenched when Gwaine had mentioned his mother, his tone light but his eyes dimming. 

Merlin had kissed him after that, hoping to chase the despondent look away. And he had been pleasantly surprised when he had succeeded, Gwaine holding him close after, his head pressed tight against the man’s chest. He was actually a little taller than Gwaine, just a hair, so it was a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t mind. It was nice, being held. And once they left his house, Gwaine had softly promised him that he would keep his hands to himself, so they should make the best of the time they had left. It made Merlin’s heart break, but he knew it would be for the best. But he promised to return that night, secret smiles on both of their lips as they awaited the night. 

Shortly after the simple breakfast, Merlin kissed Gwaine sweetly goodbye for one last time before exiting the house, neckerchief tightly wrapped around his neck to hide all the bruises he knew lingered there. There was one near his jawline that he couldn’t quite cover, but he hoped it would be unnoticeable. Worse case, he’d steal some of Freya’s powder that she used to cover her face, for whatever reason. She was naturally beautiful, she didn’t need the powder to cover it up. But she had always just sniffed at him and said he wouldn’t understand. He was secretly glad for her strange proclivity, now.

It took him only a minute to make his way back to Arthur’s house, the village bustling around as it woke up for the day. There were maybe two to three hundred people in the relatively small village, so the roads were fairly packed even at this time of the day. Merlin thankfully made it back to Arthur’s house without bumping into anyone. He finally understood what some of the other Nobles called their walk of shame as they made it back to their wives after a night with a mistress. It had sickened him at the time, and still did (why cheat on your wife? How rude?) but he understood the feeling of mild shame that permeated him as he shuffled through the streets.

Oh, don’t get him wrong. He was still extremely happy from the night before and would never truly regret it. But it still felt clandestine. Like something meant for his and Gwaine’s eyes only. Not to be shared. These people wouldn’t understand. They’d understand less if they knew he’d been with a man. He didn’t want their judgement when he’d just had the best night in his young life. He couldn’t stand their judgement here, now. 

At least no one noticed, he thought as he carefully entered the house, sighing with relief at having not been caught. He had a blissful smile on his lips, feeling more relaxed that he had in years. Decades, if he was being honest. And he’d only been alive for two, so that was saying something. 

“Where the bloody hell have you been?! I’ve been up since before dawn worrying that you’d been kidnapped by the fucking sorcerers! And why are you still dressed in yesterday’s clothes?!” A loud, angry voice called at him. 

Seemed he spoke too soon. 

Wide eyes lifting from the ground, his heart stopped dead as the one person he’d least wanted to see him like this was standing right in front of him, as mad as a mating Griffin. 

“Arthur! I, uh. Just went outside on a walk! Wanted to, you know. Get a breath of fresh air.”

“Since four in the goddamn morning?! What is wrong with you?! You didn’t leave a bloody note, anything could have happened!” Arthur shouted, gaining the attention of the other inhabitants of the house. Luckily (or not, who knew with her) Freya walked over, smiling widely. Too widely. Uh oh. 

“Merlin! See, I told you he was fine. He always used to go for walks in the morning, usually after a nightmare. He’d be gone for hours sometimes, it’d take us ages to find him some days. Scared Gaius and the king half to death. We tried to get him to write notes, but he would always forget. He’d stopped doing it as he got older, but I guess things have been kind of tense lately, right Merlin? So it makes sense your old habit has started up again. Just try and be careful, alright? Now that we have some enemies against us, we have to make sure we know where we all are at all hours. Got it?” 

What. The Hell. Was she talking about? Merlin gaped at her, wondering if she’d hit her head. He never went for walks in the early morning, certainly not after nightmares. He’d always gone to Gaius or Freya when he’d been younger after a nightmare, or even younger, his father. He’d hated wandering the castle alone, the big building full of frightening shadows and noises. He’d been about to point that out when she gave him a pointed look, eyes glaring at his chin. 

Right where the love bite was. Oh, shit. She knew. 

Grimacing, he put his hand subtly over his chin, trying to play it off as being chagrin marking his actions, and not abject terror. 

“Oh, yeah. Shit. I’m sorry, guys. I just… forgot, I guess. I’ll make sure to leave a note if it happens again.”

“Well, you better. I spent half the night frantic with worry, you arse. Don’t do that again.”

With that, Arthur stormed off, heading outside into the village. His heart plummeted, his good mood from that morning evaporating in the wake of Arthur’s worry. Shit. He hadn’t meant to make anyone worry about him. 

Before he could brood anymore, he felt a sharp hand grasp his arm, Freya looking at him with too bright eyes and a slightly manic grin. He instantly pushed his worries about Arthur aside, realizing he had bigger worries at the moment. Much bigger. 

“So, Merlin! I had something I wanted to talk to you about, please come with me upstairs?” Freya asked, grin widening as her eye twitched. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He laughed nervously, but before he could turn her down and flee into the street and never return, his pseudo sister’s suddenly talon like claws dug in and dragged him away. He thought about screaming for help, but figured he’d find no sympathizers here. Traitors. The lot of them. 

As she dragged him upstairs, he had a moment to mourn his upcoming passing. The last time he had seen Freya like this, he had accidentally ruined her favorite necklace and had tried to blame it on a dog. When she’d found out the truth, she’d been apoplectic, but had been this oddly calm while leading him to his doom, giving him a false sense of security. He’d never fall for it again. She may look sweet and cute, but she was a killing machine, waiting for blood. He ignored the guilt he felt at the comparison, given the curse she was under, feeling he was allowed some self-pity and some cruelty towards his soon to be executioner. His only regret in life was not having more sex with Gwaine. 

They finally made it to the upstairs bedroom, Freya dragging him into the room she’d been sharing with Morgana. The room also didn’t have a door, but when Merlin heard Freya mutter a silencing charm, he knew he was about to get it epically. And so, he closed his eyes and prayed his death would be a swift one. 

Instead, all he heard was an unholy screech, making his eyes fly wide open in fright, thinking Freya had somehow managed to control her curse enough to turn into it in the day time to kill him with, when a heavy force tackled him, making him fall to the ground. He screamed, realizing that he was too young to die. 

“Freya! Freya please, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, please!” He begged, his life flashing before his eyes. All the times he hadn’t had sex with Gwaine popped up. It was almost all of them. He regretted them all. Outside of the ones that had sex with Gwaine in them. Those he’d never regret. 

“You arsehole! You didn’t tell me you had a thing for fucking _Gwaine_! I don’t know if I’m proud, angry, or nauseous! How was it?! Wait, I don’t want to know. It sounded awful and I will never unhear the things I heard last night, as long as I live. I will go to the grave with the sound of you moaning ~Gwaine~ in my delicate ears. I blame you, the total arsehole that you are.”

Merlin stared at the girl in mounting horror all through her tirade, managing to untangle himself from his (not transformed) pseudo sister, until all he felt was sick horror inside. 

“You… you FOLLOWED ME?! How dare you! I can’t believe that you would follow me, you are the arsehole, not me. I-"

He was about to continue on his rant when he felt his arm go suddenly numb. He looked down at his arm and saw an indent on the fabric in the shape of a fist. Freya was glaring at him fiercely, which honestly was quite terrifying despite the fact she was over half a foot shorter than him and weighed maybe seven stone, seven and a half. 

“Oh, no you don’t, Merlin Emrys. You don’t get to blame me just because you forgot I turn into a bloody flying cat every night at midnight, giving me super hearing against my will. Why didn’t you cast a silencing spell?! If my magic worked in my transformed state, I’d have cast it myself, but I tragically couldn’t! I was suffering! Your poor sister was suffering, and you likely didn’t care. You were just having so much fun with ~~~GwAiNe~~~” Freya sing-songed, somehow looking both nauseous and impressed at the same time. 

Oh. 

Dear. 

God. 

How had he forgotten the curse placed on his pseudo (alright, fine, she was his sister, if not by blood than by choice) sister?! Yes, he’d been a bit distracted, but god! 

He was going to be sick. This was how he died, he realized, misery rising in him. He’d die of shame and disgrace. He could never look his sister in the eye again. And it was all his fault. He should have cast a silencing spell. He was a fool. 

“Kill me,” he begged, eyes wide and beseeching. She snorted, but he was serious. He grabbed her arms and looked her straight in the eye. Then he remembered why he couldn’t do that and backed away like he was scalded, wailing. 

“Oh my god, Iamsofuckingsorryiwillneverdothatagainitwasamistakeandiwillneverliveitdownpleaasekillmenowple-“ he rushed all in one breath, eyes tearing up with his mortification. Oh, god. 

“Merlin!” Freya yelled, but Merlin didn’t hear her. He was too busy lying on the ground in a pile of misery. 

“Merlin!” She shouted again, to no avail. Merlin had died. He was dead, RIP, sayonara, bye bye. 

Rolling her eyes, she kicked him in the side, adding injury to insult. He moaned pitifully, looking up at her sadly. 

“I’m not going to kill you, Merlin. I will though if you ever forget a silencing spell again when in the middle of some hot, nasty, gay se-“

“Freya!” Merlin yelped, scrambling up in mortification to cover her mouth. Sadly, she knew his tricks and just licked him, making him jump back in disgust. “Ew!”

She just laughed, which made no sense. Why wasn’t she killing him? She should be killing him. He really, really wanted her to kill him. 

“I’m not killing you, dumby. You’re my honorary baby brother who used to have a nasty crush on me. I can’t kill you. It’s probably against a law of the universe or something.”

Great. Looked like he was going to have to kill himself. Tragic. He’d never thought he’d go out the way of the samurai*, committing seppuku, but it was a noble end. 

Freya just rolled her eyes, before she hugged him again. This time not knocking him down. 

“I will forever hate you for making me listen to that disgusting display. But I am also so very happy for you, Merlin. I know things have been hard for you lately, so I’m so happy you have something good. Gwaine was such a sleaze yesterday, but I can see how you might think him charming. Especially after all those nice things he said to you, like how your balls are like-“

“No! Never! Ever! _Ever_! Refer to my balls again! Ever!” 

“-firm apples, succulent and ripe, and just as swe- mmph!” 

It was for their own good that he tackled her and forced his neckerchief into her mouth. Otherwise there would be a murder as well tonight. He wouldn’t even be blamed. He’d be cleared of all charges; post-humous, of course. 

“Merlin! Ew!” Freya shrieked, tugging the thing out of her mouth. She then turned to him, eyes angry, but they filled with shock a second later as her jaw dropped. 

“Holy hell! Was he trying to _eat_ you?!” She cried, rushing forward to look at his, regrettably uncovered, neck. Shit. He shouldn’t have used his neckerchief. 

This went on for long minutes, the honorary siblings bickering with one another, until Freya managed to hold onto her brother with unyielding arms, him miserably staring into the distance, dreaming of the grave. She was humming an old lullaby of his as she rocked him back and forth. She’d done that when they had been nine, when they’d been closest together and he’d go to her with his nightmares, not Gaius, since her room was physically closer. 

“It’s alright, Merlin. I’m honestly not that mad. Well, I am. But I am also very happy for you, and that takes precedence over my anger. Please don’t let your happiness fade because of me. You looked so joyous before Arthur started yelling at you that I almost didn’t recognize you. It was like you were the little boy I met so long ago, smiling so brightly at the prospect of a friend. If he makes you happy, Merlin, then I am happy. But I do mean it. Forget a silencing spell again and I will cut your balls off.”

He could feel tears fill his eyes, but he rejected them. He had to stop crying. He had to. It was becoming pathetic. 

He did accept Freya’s comforting words, the melody of the old lullaby mixing with her muttered acceptance and love. He loved her, he really did. He had no idea where he’d be if his father hadn’t taken her in all those years ago. He really didn’t. Probably dead. 

After a while, he pulled away, rubbing at his eyes as he smiled weakly at Freya. He’d likely never live this down and would, years down the line, when they were old and grey, still be getting flack for this. Like he knew he’d give her if their situations were reversed. Still. It sucked that it had happened to him. 

“So... was it good?” She asked hesitantly, a few seconds later, causing him to look at her in dismay. She just laughed, shaking her head. 

“I’m actually being serious. I couldn’t hear everything, as I had been actively trying to claw my ears out at the time. Do I have to head over to Gwaine’s house and de-man him for defiling my baby bro?” 

“I’m not that much younger than you, stop calling me that,” he muttered, eyes on the ground. But he smiled despite himself. “But no. I’m… I’m good. Gwaine was good. He was just... so nice to me. Like he actually cared. It was… odd, from someone who wasn’t you or Gaius. I don’t know what changed his mind about me, but I’m glad it did. We’re not going to be anything serious, and he’ll stay here when I head back home once this is done. Plus, I, you know. Care for Arthur. But... it’s nice. Him. And me. And I promise I’ll use a silencing charm from now on. Always. For any… exploits. Even if you’re oceans away. This will _Never_ happen again,” he stressed, shuddering that it had happened even once. Freya laughed again, shaking her head as she grimaced. 

“Good. Make sure it doesn’t. Or I will take your apple-firm balls and shove them down your throat. Also, you did remember that protection charm Gaius forced us both to learn, right? You may both be men, but protection is important! Merlin? Merlin… Merlin!” 

He groaned in dismay, putting his hands over his eyes as Freya yelled at him about the importance of protecting oneself against various diseases of the generals. 

Death would be better than this. 

* * *

_Summary:_

_Merlin meets up with Gwaine at his house, where Gwaine waits, prepared to woo, but also to get to know more about Merlin, to determine if he’s actually worthwhile. Merlin is nervous but answers all the questions Gwaine has. When Gwaine asks a personal question about his sexuality, though, Merlin clams up and gets nervous._

_After some back and forth, Gwaine propositions Merlin, to which Merlin replies “Uh, FUCK YEAH,” and sexy times are had. Merlin comes like, four times in two hours, which I’m fairly certain is not possible, but whatevs. Merlin is magic. ‘Nough said._

_After sex, Merlin and Gwaine take a bath, then head to bed. They wake up and Merlin muses that he loves Gwaine, but only a little. A brief love. Fleeting. Gwaine reveals that he knows Merlin loves Arthur, since Merlin screamed Arthur’s name during sex, but he’s cool with it. He doesn’t do relationships, but he mentions how he falls in love slightly to all the lovers he has. Merlin finds it’s not quite like what he wants with Arthur, but it’s not bad. Hell, it’s actually quite good._

_Eventually, the sun rises, so Merlin heads back to Arthur’s home, slightly ashamed to be walking through the village after the night he’d had, but mostly happy. The happiness fades when he arrives at the home and Arthur immediately yells at him, saying he had been worried that Merlin had been captured by the sorcerers, why hadn’t he left a note saying he was alright? Before Merlin can defend himself, a slightly manic Freya butts in and makes up a story about how Merlin used to wander after nightmares, without leaving notes. Arthur accepts this, grudgingly, but still storms out of the house in anger._

_Merlin is grateful to his sort of sister, who he decides to call his sister (definitely not because I hated writing pseudo all the time), but quickly takes his gratitude back when Freya drags him upstairs angrily._

_It is then that he is reminded, painfully, that Freya turns into a cat monster each night and has enhanced hearing. And realizes, with mounting horror, that she heard everything, since he forgot to put up a silencing charm._

_After moments of panic and of Merlin wanting the ground to swallow him whole, the two talk and Freya claims she is happy for him, as long as he is happy. Merlin realizes that, yeah. He is happy. And that’s about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *note, samurai were around after the 12th century C.E., while Arthurian myth most likely took place around the 7th to 11th centuries C.E., if they happened at all. Author knows this and has taken liberties of time for the sake of her craft.
> 
> Hey all! So, the only thing you really need to know from this chapter is that A) Arthur is, indeed, jealous, and B) Merlin and Gwaine are kind of in a physical relationship at the moment. I hope the smut wasn't as awkward as I felt it was when trying to reread it afterward. Why did I do this to myself?? I'd have gotten rid of it entirely, but I already wrote it, and have built it up so long, so here you go. The only smut I will ever, EVER write. Oof. 
> 
> Next chapter is fun, though! I'm sure a lot of you have been waiting for Jealous!Arthur; well, your wait will be over this Wednesday! :-D


	14. The End of Something Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: intense internalized homophobia, as well as homophobic/biphobic comments by a main character. (Sorry for not putting this earlier!!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhh
> 
> So. This chapter. Ahhhhh. SO. When I wrote this, it was my favorite chapter, and I still love it, though it has it's faults. A warning, though; it is SUPER dramatic. Like, those of you who want drama, you've got it. We also finally see another of my major relationship tags come into play, so have fun with that! :-D 
> 
> Thanks again for all the comments! I got a couple people saying the smut wasn't that bad, so I'm glad it wasn't cringe inducing, aha. 
> 
> Enjoy! :-D

Arthur was fuming as he stormed through the streets of Fayford, though he had no idea why. Well, not entirely. To be fair, he had awoken in the middle of the night, head aching, the memory of Merlin’s magic thick on his tongue for reasons he hadn’t known. There had been a niggling in his mind, something bothering him, and when he turned to look at Merlin, to see if he was alright, he had sat up so fast his head had spun.

Because Merlin. Wasn’t. There. 

Arthur had gotten to his feet, pushing aside the blankets and pillow he had taken to make the uncomfortable sleep easier. He stared at the empty mattress for a moment, heart pounding, before he tore through the room, looking for a clue as to where Merlin had gone. He had found some footprints, leading outdoors, but when he’d followed them, he’d only been led to Gwaine’s house. Figuring they must have been his friend’s from earlier, he’d scowled and stomped back to the house to find other clues. 

But there had been nothing. No clues. No hints. Just the footprints leading to Gwaine’s house and nothing else. 

He had tried not to let the anxiety fill him. Maybe Merlin was just taking a long leak? Why he’d go outside for that instead of using the chamber pot, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t a bloody prince. Maybe they had a thing against using chamber pots in strange houses. 

As the minutes passed by, the more he began to panic. He paced his old room, eyes darting around for any hint of a clue. Something. Anything. Please. 

But no. There was nothing. It was like Merlin had vanished. 

He paced for half an hour, debating what to do. On one hand, he trusted Merlin and his power. It would take a lot to best the young man in battle. 

On the other hand…

If a sorcerer had attacked him while he had been sleeping, perhaps he hadn’t been able to react in time. Or maybe he’d been kidnapped using magic he was impossible to prevent, or maybe…

On and on he went. By the time the sky was starting to lighten with false dawn, he’d had enough. Time for drastic measures.

He had once been told that if he ever went into Morgana’s room again, for any reason, he would be killed very painfully and brutally. But this was an emergency. He figured she’d understand. Maybe. 

“Morgana!” Arthur whispered as loud as he dared, not wanting to wake his mother. As he entered the room, the sight he saw made him gag, but he needed their help. Swallowing his nausea, he stormed over and woke the two sleeping girls with a shake. 

Instantly Morgana’s eyes slammed open, eyes flashing gold as she tried to use magic against him. Luckily, he had put on the medallion after he had awakened, knowing it might be useful. It proved him well once more as he prevented him from being blasted away. It didn’t protect him from the evil glare Morgana gave, or the sleepy confusion from her paramour. 

“Arthur. I thought I told you that you would die a swift and painful death should you ever enter my room again,” Morgana intoned, eyes flashing with anger. Arthur rolled his eyes at her theatrics. 

“I know, Morgana. But this is an emergency. I need your help-”

“Arthur. The sun has not yet risen. How much of an emergency can it possibly be? Did you get your penis caught in a bottle again?”

Woah! Okay! That had been one time and he’d been _eleven_ , and-

“Wha- no! It’s Merlin!” He cried, anger filling him. At the name, Freya popped up, eyes wide as she stared at him. Startled, he took a step back. 

“Merlin?! What about him, is he alright?!” Freya asked frantically, panic clear in her voice. Arthur was shocked into silence for a second before he found his wits and replied. 

“No! He’s not alright. He’s bloody missing!”

Morgana gasped at the words, bolting upright immediately.

“Missing? What do you mean, how?”

“I mean that I cannot find him. I woke a little under an hour ago and found that Merlin wasn’t on the mattress like he had been when we went to sleep. I was concerned so I went to look for him. The only fresh footprints were leading to Gwaine’s house, so I’m guessing they were from when Gwaine went home. Other than that, there was no trace of him. It’s like he’s vanished. I fear that the sorcerers have taken him somehow. We must find him,” Arthur stressed, his heart clenching as his worry mounted. Somehow, seeing Morgana’s distress made his worsen. He knew he wasn’t just panicking for nothing. 

“Are you sure? Maybe he just took a walk?” Came the reply from Freya, who looked a lot less concerned than he’d thought she’d be. In fact… she almost looked carefully disinterested. Arthur narrowed his eyes. 

“Do you know where he is?” He asked, suspicious. Morgana gave him a dirty look, like he was offending her by not trusting her paramour. Well, excuse him for being concerned of suspicious behavior. 

“No!” Freya replied, a little too fast. Before he could press the matter and question her further, she cleared her throat. “I just wondered because I remembered something. When we were- were younger. He would get terrible nightmares, would wake screaming and everything. Sometimes he would go out for walks and wouldn’t return for hours and hours. We’d be so terrified he’d gotten lost or hurt, but he always, inevitably, returned, completely unharmed. So, I’m just not sure he’s missing as much as he’s just, I don’t know. Wandering. We should wait until daylight to worry. He was always back by breakfast. I do understand your concern, Arthur. You are a good friend to him. He’s never had many, so I’m glad he has you to rely on. But I don’t think it’s something to worry about just yet.”

Freya smiled at him, but her words didn’t comfort him. He’d have seen Merlin’s footprints. He mentioned it to her, watching her smile fade. She hummed, but eventually shook her head. 

“He can hide his tracks if he wants. His magic sometimes does it automatically if he’s scared. He would do that on the worst of his days. With all the fighting and conflict going on, well. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s having nightmares again and is hiding his tracks with magic. You should try and get some sleep. He’ll be back. I’m sure of it. I’d know if he was in pain. I’d sense it. So, don’t worry, Arthur. It’ll be alright.”

With that, the girls went back to sleep, Morgana stating that if he woke her again before sunrise without an actual emergency, she’d stab him. He didn’t doubt her. 

He couldn’t get his mind off his worry though and didn’t sleep at all. When the sun finally rose and the house woke, he felt his stomach roil. He had been all about to set off into the forest itself and fight god himself to get Merlin back if he had to. 

And then the prat has decided to walk in through the door, lips bruised with a sappy grin on them, hair an absolute mess, and eyes glazed. Arthur had felt his stomach clench for reasons other than his concern, eyes traveling on all the evidence that pointed to one answer, but Arthur hadn’t wanted to think about it. To think about Merlin, looking thoroughly fucked, standing in the doorway of his childhood home. With the only footsteps outside the house leading to the house of his (now former) best friend. 

He didn’t want to think about it. 

So, now he was storming through the village, eyes glassy and mind blank. 

Sometimes he hated Gwaine, Arthur couldn’t help but think, hands clenched. He’d always been so good with people without really even trying. He’d seen the way Merlin had looked at him when they’d first arrived. Had seen the blush on his royal cheeks. He had hoped that he’d been scared off by Gwaine’s anger. But he supposed…

Well. It didn’t matter what he supposed. Because he didn’t care. Merlin had been ‘walking’ last night. So what? Big deal. 

Besides. They had bigger worries. They had to start preparing their plan today. So, he pushed his anger out of his mind and thought of the plan as he meandered through the town, not wanting to return home for some strange reason (that definitely wasn’t because the thought of seeing Merlin- looking so completely disheveled only one possible thing could have caused it- making his insides ache).

It was a simple plan, Arthur knew, but it made him nervous. The gist of it was that they would create ‘magic’ to fight against the sorcerers. Basically, Merlin, Freya, and Morgana would help them create potions and magical… things, that would explode or do other magical stuff. Merlin had explained what each item would do, eyes alight and grin on his face as he explained something that he was good at, but Arthur had been strangely distracted. 

They had briefly had the idea to use the town as the location to see the trap, but that had been shot down immediately. By Merlin, actually. 

“Oh, no, no, no. That would be a disaster waiting to happen. Too many unknown variables and the added potential for civilian casualties. No. We should do it in a field. Perhaps a valley. Somewhere we can ambush them and use their confusion to our advantage.”

They had decided that the old, flooded farm would work perfect. It had enough hiding spots that they could easily plant their magic bombs and traps, as well as hide out from the sorcerers’ rage. The hardest part would be leading them there, but Morgana and Freya had shared a look and said they’d take care of it, twin sweet smiles on their faces. Arthur felt himself shudder as he thought of those looks. Evil. 

At the end, they hadn’t mentioned what they’d do with the sorcerers when they were done. He hadn’t wanted to bring it up. Merlin’s grim face when asked what some of the magical items would do to the person who came across it said enough. 

There would be no survivors. 

Well, Arthur thought as he began to gather the supplies they’d need, figuring he’d take this time to do something productive, they had given the renegades a chance. A final warning. They refused. Whatever happened now wasn’t their fault. They had tried. 

It took him to find some of the supplies Merlin wanted. Hogwort. Willow’s branch. The eye of a frog was a hard one, but his mother helped him at the apothecary, which was still odd to see her working at. It all seemed so random to him, but Merlin had entrusted him with more money than he had ever seen in his life to buy it all, so he’d do whatever the prince asked. 

(And if he tried to give a little extra to his mother for her help, well. He didn’t think Merlin would mind.)

(His mother only hit him gently upside the head and handed back the money with a hard stare. Oh well.) 

The point was he was able to somehow find all the ingredients. They smelled and some were wet and wriggly, but he had them. About an hour had passed, so the sun was fully up in the sky, glinting from behind the scattered clouds.

Now it was time to head back to his house, he supposed, to meet up with the few men who didn’t have to work at the moment. Because he had the biggest house of his friends (of the whole village, actually, his father having made sure of that before he left. Or died. Whichever), they always met there for their various rendezvous. There was an abandoned house near the edge of town they sometimes used, and he felt they could go there when actually building the various bombs, but for now they’d meet in his house to discuss it all. Besides. The abandoned house was creepy. 

As he wandered back to his house, he felt a spike of anxiety fill him. He wasn’t even sure why. He was just still so wound up from earlier. From being so worried about Merlin to being so… well. It didn’t matter. He just wasn’t sure he could handle being around Merlin at the moment. 

But he had to. This was bigger than his apprehension. This was the fate of not only his village, but all villages in the general area. He’d spent enough hours of his youth riding around the various villages on borrowed (or occasionally stolen) horses. While they’d never been home, he felt as much a desire to protect them as his own village. They were all his people, regardless. So, pushing his reservations aside, he entered his house. 

It was like a wall of noise had hit him. Half his friends were there already, chatting and laughing. Arthur couldn’t help the grin that rose on his face. He’d missed this the most while he’d been away. The noise. The bustle. His friends had never been the quiet type. He’d befriended some of the serving staff at Camelot, but most avoided him, afraid of his connection to Merlin. And those that he had befriended were silent, almost beaten down. Any spirit they had had been beaten out of them by the visiting ‘Nobles,’ or the king himself. 

“Arthur! There you are. Your prince was worrying,” Percy said, rolling his eyes. Arthur, despite himself, felt his eyes dart to where Merlin was sat, his cheeks pink, neckerchief pulled high up on his neck. Arthur pulled his eyes away quick, fighting down the scowl that was trying to make way on his face. He didn’t care. So what he had a feeling what that offending scrap of fabric of his was hiding? Merlin was his own man. What he did with his time was up to him. He focused on his friends and grinned as he held up the bag of supplies. 

“I got the ingredients we need. Some of them stink to high heaven, so I hope we don’t use them in here, but I’ve got them. What do we have to do next?”

“Well, first we should discuss battle tactics. My father and advisors taught me tons during my childhood, so we have that. I don’t suppose any of you know about battle arrangements, by chance?”

Merlin said it like he didn’t expect any raised hands. And, to be fair, no hands went up. None but one, he thought with a smirk, as he rose his hand with as much swagger as he could muster. Gwaine would likely call it condescending, if he had bothered to show up, but Arthur didn’t care what Gwaine thought, thank you very much. Arthur tried not to let the impressed look on Merlin’s face affect him. 

“My uncles taught me. Whenever they were in town, they’d share old battles they’d been in, or that they’d heard of. I doubt that magical battles and non-magical ones are exactly the same, but I bet they share enough similar features.” 

The smile Merlin gave him should absolutely not make his insides squirm the way they did. But here they were. 

“Likely. I’ll need to know what you lot can do. Strengths, weaknesses, if you’re willing. I need to figure out who can do what. We have less than two weeks to figure this out, so we need to use every second to our advantage. Who here is good at aiming?”

Things went on that way for the next ten minutes, as more and more of his friends entered. Each time one of them did, Merlin caught them up. It was funny, how now they all had a plan of action, his friends seemed more friendly towards Merlin. He supposed it was a good thing. 

Though, he thought sourly, as Gwaine finally sauntered through the door and Merlin’s face lit up like a candle, perhaps not. 

“Gwaine!” Merlin exclaimed, smile bright on his face. Worse, though, was the answering smile on Gwaine’s. It wasn’t even one of his usual flirty or smug smiles, either. No. It was likely the warmest, most sincere smile he’d ever seen on his friend’s face. It made him sick. 

“Princess,” Gwaine replied, voice impossibly fond. He’d known the prince for two _days_. What reason could he possibly have to be so bloody fond? And why was his nickname being given to someone else? He’d always _hated_ the nickname, but hearing Gwaine use it on someone else…

_Best not to think of it_ , he thought, mood souring completely. 

“I’m sorry I’m late. Had to explain to the lovely Ms. Winslow that I wouldn’t be by today. She was so distraught, though she tearfully allowed it, saying she would be awaiting my return with bated breath, her heart yearning for the moment I returned.”

Dramatic, as always, he thought drily as Gwaine shook his head in exaggerated sorrow. Arthur decidedly didn’t notice the way Merlin’s smile faded a bit, looking a touch upset. Why would he be upset? No bloody reason to be upset. And why would Arthur care if he _were_ upset? He wouldn’t. At all. 

“Ms. Winslow is, like, eighty, you cad, and half blind. Don’t tell us you’re into octogenarians now, are you? Though only a blind woman would want you!” Percy called, causing the rest of his friends to jeer. Arthur only rolled his eyes. 

“Excuse you, Ms. Winslow is a beautiful young woman and I won’t hear you slander my future bride like that. She’s a damn sight finer than the poor girl you’ve got your eye on, eh, Perc? Better judge in partners, too.”

At that the jeering was directed towards Percival, who turned beet red and started arguing against the others. Arthur couldn’t help but watch, though, as Gwaine wandered over to Merlin now that the attention was no longer on him and gave him the smile from earlier, far gentler than any he’d ever seen from the man. He watched as Merlin smiled back, face impossibly fond, hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach out and touch, but for some reason couldn’t. He watched for a few moments as they exchanged a few words, Merlin blushing brightly while Gwaine gave him a wolf’s smile, though his eyes were still overwhelmingly fond. It was then that Arthur tore his eyes away, breathing heavy for some unknown reason. 

It wasn’t his business. What did he care that Merlin enjoyed spending time with Gwaine? That he blushed so prettily (no! Not prettily! Girls were pretty, Merlin _wasn’t_ ) when he looked at Gwaine? That the two had clearly been _walking together_ the night before?

Arthur wished, then, that he was as good at perception as he was at lying to himself. 

Which was not at all. 

But it didn’t matter. Couldn’t, actually. And why should it? 

Well… Merlin was his friend. And friends looked out for one another, right? Right. And while Gwaine was also his friend, Arthur knew what kind of man he was. Noble, yes, but he had a wandering eye. He liked pretty things, the kind to travel farther from the village than any of them, spending weeks scouring the land for booze and women (or sometimes men, Arthur knew). He liked to find the prettiest, most comely people and would court them for a time. But it was only ever for a time. He had never had anyone serious, never stayed with one person long. The longest fling the man ever had had lasted a month, and that had been riddled with other people he’d also been with at the same time. He’d claimed that his lover both knew and accepted his infidelity, but Arthur wasn’t sure how true that claim was.

Gwaine wasn’t a bad man, Arthur knew this. He wouldn’t have considered him possibly his best friend (save maybe Leon, who’d never gone against him) if he weren’t. 

But the man just… didn’t care. About other people. Not as much as he likely should. Not as much as others seemed to care for him. Not like that. He had left many people broken hearted and had never seemed to really care. He was careless, a wanderer, a rover. He spent half his days on the road, since his mother had died of sickness all those years prior. 

So, he was concerned. Merlin had a deep heart. A bleeding heart. He felt everything so keenly that Arthur would have despaired him if he weren’t so fond of his proclivity. It was something he respected deeply about him, but it made the prince a bit naive. And Arthur knew Gwaine. Knew how he would sometimes prey upon a person who was young, impressionable. He never meant harm, Arthur knew it. But it didn’t help those he had hurt, however unintentionally. 

And Arthur couldn’t bear the thought of Merlin being hurt that way. Not by one of his friends. Not while he knew what Gwaine was like. Merlin would fall for him, hard, and would be heartbroken when Gwaine left him. Merlin was so sentimental, almost sensitive. Arthur could see it, clear as day. 

He’d have to talk to Gwaine. Get him to leave Merlin alone. He couldn’t bear to see Merlin get hurt. He couldn’t. 

(And that was all. It wasn’t jealousy coloring his decision. He had nothing to be jealous of. He was Merlin’s friend and servant, that was all. He was just concerned.

That was all.)

Having made up his mind, he tuned back into the conversation, which had turned away from Percy’s new love interest and back on track. 

Several of the men had to leave over the span of the day, others arriving at odd times. As they planned, Arthur moved closer to Merlin, both to go over battle plans they both knew, and to keep Gwaine away. When he had glared daggers at Gwaine the first time, Gwaine had just raised a brow with a teasing glint in his eyes, but just shrugged as he walked away. He had briefly touched Merlin’s upper arm, before leaving, however, the touch lingering as the pair shared a heated look. It had made him nauseous. But Gwaine had walked away, Arthur taking his place, Merlin smiling at him now, bright as the sun. 

_As it should be_ , that traitorous voice purred deep inside him. He pushed it away. Like always. 

By the time the sun had reached its zenith, they had hammered out their plan, for the most part. It would be simple. Almost too simple. Arthur actually didn’t want to jinx it by thinking about it too hard. 

Gwaine hadn’t left by that time, instead joining the family for lunch. Gwaine got work doing odd jobs, fixing broken fences, or mending fallen roofs for a small price. It served him well, especially whenever he got the urge to travel. It certainly gave him the liberty of taking as much time off as he wanted, no one depending on him. Like he wanted. 

Arthur hated it. Hated how he took the seat beside Merlin, laughing, smiling. His mother, who had returned home for lunch, had only smiled at him as he ate her food. Gwaine was a mooch. A leech. He took and took and took. Like he took Merlin’s smiles. Took his laugh. Arthur hated it. 

Freya was looking at them too, a slightly nauseated but happy look on her face as she smiled fondly at the two. She definitely knew. No wonder she’d been so unconcerned. 

The meal passed slowly, Arthur’s heart beating in his ears as he stared, without meaning to, at the pair. If they were trying to hide it, they were terrible. Even blind, senile Ms. Winslow would have been able to see it. Merlin would sometimes look up and dart his wide eyes around the table, as if he were afraid of being caught. Arthur would avert his gaze, talk blandly with his mother or half-sister, until the prince settled down. And then he’d stare some more. 

This... this had to stop. It was ridiculous. Merlin was his friend. He had to protect him. Had to. 

And so, when the meal had finally ( _finally_ ) ended, he had stood and grinned as he requested for Gwaine to chat with him alone for a minute. And if his grin had a bit of a razor’s edge to it, well. Hopefully Gwaine hadn’t noticed. 

He had. Arthur knew he had, as the other man hesitated, eyes narrowing on him even as he stood, nodding his agreement. Arthur watched as Gwaine said something soft to Merlin, who smiled his damned dopey smile at the other, before swaggering over to Arthur, sweeping his hand out as he raised a brow at him. 

“Lead on, Princess,” Gwaine stated, tone light but eyes hard. Like he was about to go into battle. Arthur pushed down the apprehension that filled him, the thought that told him this was a bad idea. That Gwaine was his friend, his best friend. This was too important.

Arthur led the man out of the house and down the street, to a small alleyway the group would frequent when they wanted privacy. It was surrounded on all sides by stores and stalls, though no one really looked down the alley, caring too much on their wares. It was perfect for a small, private chat. 

(Or a midnight rendezvous, not that Arthur had ever had one of those. He was always too focused on Gwen to care too much for other girls. He’d kissed some, fondled others, but nothing more.)

As soon as they entered, Arthur turned on Gwaine, eyes hard. 

“What do you want with Merlin? What are you planning?” Arthur questioned, tone accusing. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to have this conversation with his friend. Usually Gwaine would laugh, grinning his careless grin as he claimed he meant no harm, was just having a spot of fun. It was what he had done when Arthur had caught him trying to court Gwen when he’d been thirteen, the fifteen-year-old Gwaine just laughing it up. He just didn’t care. 

Which was why it surprised him when Gwaine clenched his jaw and glared at him. Hard. 

“I’m not planning anything,” Gwaine claimed, crossing his arms, back tense and tight. Arthur had never seen his friend look so serious. Not in a long while, at least. Since his mother’s funeral, perhaps. It took him aback. But he quickly regained his sense and glared back, hard. 

“I know you Gwaine. I know you hate royalty. Emrys royalty more than any other. But Merlin doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve you to string him along. Leave him be. I won’t let you hurt him.”

He meant it. Meant his words. He didn’t know why Gwaine was doing this, if it was just for a laugh, or a good time, or if it was for a more nefarious reason. But whatever the reason, Arthur would put an end to it. Someone would only end up hurt. And he doubted it would be Gwaine.

Instead of laughing it off like he usually did for everything, however, Gwaine just glared harder. Then he laughed, but it wasn’t his usual, carefree laugh. It was a harsh one. No mirth in it. It made his chest freeze to hear it.

“Do you really think so little of me, friend? Think I’d do such a thing? Hurt someone this way? I am many things, Arthur Pendragon. But I am not needlessly cruel. I’d never use sex to hurt someone. Ever. If you knew me the way you’d claimed, you’d know that.” 

And the truth was, he did. Gwaine, for all his faults, was honorable. Noble. He didn’t hurt others needlessly, not on purpose. But he did hurt people, on accident. He always did. Rallied around that thought, he pulled himself up and looked Gwaine dead in the eyes.

“Well then… fine. Maybe you don’t mean to. But you will hurt him. I know Merlin. He loves too deeply, too quickly. You… you love no one. You’ll only hurt him. Please, Gwaine. Find someone else. Not him.”

The way Gwaine looked at him after he had finished… Arthur’s stomach clenched, swearing he saw what looked like hurt flash in his friend’s eyes, his mouth slightly open in shock. Then the man squared his jaw and looked away, eyes bright and angry. Gwaine said nothing for long moments, likely collecting his thoughts. Arthur just looked on as calmly as he could manage, though his insides were a mess. He didn’t want to hurt his friend. But he wanted Merlin to get hurt even less. Gwaine could take it. Merlin- sweet, innocent Merlin- couldn’t. When Gwaine spoke again, his voice was low, deadly in its intensity. He shivered to hear it.

“I never take what is not freely given. I do not force anyone to give me a thing. I take only what is offered willingly. Yes, I know some people end up hurt, but I do everything in my power to make sure that never happens. I lay out rules. I ensure all parties are in agreement before anything happens. I know what you and the others think of me, but I am not cruel. It is not my fault people gain feelings when I made sure they were aware it would only last a night or two. I can’t be blamed.”

“Yes!” Arthur shouted, suddenly fed up, words coming out that he hadn’t originally planned. “Yes, you can! You toy with emotions, Gwaine. You prey on the innocent and vulnerable. Merlin is little more than a child in this regard. He has no friends. Only Freya, and myself. He’s certainly never had a lover. I won’t let you hurt him. I won’t.”

The alley turned silent at his words, Gwaine freezing, eyes wide as he stared at Arthur. Arthur couldn’t help the way shame creeped up his back, regret washing over him as he replayed his impassioned words in his head. God. He hadn’t meant to say that. Despite everything, Gwaine was his friend too. And he knew, as Gwaine’s eyes took on a glassy sheen that he hid behind his hair as he looked down, chest heaving, that he’d deeply hurt his friend. And it was hard to hurt the thick-skinned man. But he had to protect Merlin. Someone had to. 

“You… you can be such a bastard, Arthur Pendragon. I have stood by your side for years. Followed you into countless trouble. Saved your hide more times than I can count from angry tavern goers and scorned women. And this is the thanks I get? My friend, my _best friend_ , thinking so little of me?”

Gwaine looked up at him, hurt and anger in his deep brown eyes, but also what Arthur was hesitant to call betrayal. He didn’t want to see it. But he knew it was there. Christ. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. 

“I know how innocent Merlin is. You think I couldn’t see it? The way he blushed so prettily at my words? The way his eyes would rove, innocent and yet so heated? Oh, it was glorious. When I found out who he was, I’ll admit that I was angry. But you were right. He’s not like that. He’s good. He wants to help for no real reason, other than because you asked. But you see, Arthur. Unlike you, I’m not stupid. I pay attention and I don’t ignore what I’m feeling for whatever bullshit reason you come up with. Pride, honor, whatever you want to call it. When I want something, I take it. If it, whatever it may be, is willing. And if it isn’t willing, or is otherwise impaired? I leave it alone. You’re proof of that.” 

Arthur looked down at that, flushing at the distant memory he’d tried so hard to forget, of Gwaine’s lips on his, his hands roving the other’s body, wanting so deeply in his drunken state. Gwaine had just chuckled, looking at him fondly, and had brought him home. Hadn’t made a single pass, even though he’d been drunk too, and no one would have faulted him. He didn’t want to think about this. God… unaware of Arthur’s inner struggle, or perhaps not caring, Gwaine plowed on, merciless.

“Merlin is a big boy, despite what you may think, and he certainly is not a child. He can make his own decisions. And he decided to come to my house last night. Decided to talk to me. Decided to let me kiss him, let me touch him. Let me fu-”

“Stop!” Arthur demanded, breathing hard, eyes wide as he tried to get the images to disappear. He couldn’t. Couldn’t think of it. He just… God. 

“Why?” Gwaine hissed, eyes flashing. “You refuse to listen, Arthur. I’ve tried, for years, to get you to see it. I played your game, kept quiet. But I know how you feel. How you look at me, late at night, even without a few ales. How you stare when we’re all training sometimes, eyes lingering on toned arms or chests. You play it off. Pretend all you ever see are women. But I know you, Arthur. I know you.”

No. He couldn’t hear this. He couldn’t… 

He turned, ready to storm out of the alley, Merlin be damned, when he felt a hand grasp him by his upper arm, pulling him back. He yanked his arm hard, but the hand refused to budge. He glared at Gwaine but paused when he saw the emotion in the other’s eyes. If he didn’t know better, he’d call it… heartbreak. 

“Merlin is an incredible person. He cares so deeply for things. I’ve only known him a handful of days and yet I think I’d be willing to die for him, given the chance. If there was anyone on this Earth who could change my wandering ways, it would be that boy. But you see, Arthur. It’s not me he wants.”

Gwaine paused at that, frown tugging his lips down as he stared deep into Arthur’s eyes, a strange sorrow filling his own. Arthur found he couldn’t breathe. This conversation… he wished he’d never started it. Gwaine was right. Merlin was a big boy. He could handle himself. He-

“He wants you. He _loves_ you. I saw it immediately. When I realized he was serious about wanting to help us, I wondered why. Why would he risk his life for a village he had no attachments to? Then I realized. He did have an attachment. You. He’d do anything for you, Arthur. And yet you don’t even realize what a gift you’ve been given. I had his borrowed love for one night and it was glorious. I will not pass up an opportunity to get it again. And again. And again, if I could only be so lucky. But it could be yours. Every night, for the rest of your life. You are so lucky I almost hate you. But you refuse. You pretend you don’t see it. That you don’t feel it, too, even though I know you do. You are the one hurting him, Arthur. Not me. I couldn’t break his heart, not even if I tried. Not when it belongs so clearly to you. And yours, to him.” 

No. No, no. He can’t. He couldn’t. Why… why was Gwaine saying this? He was wrong. He was…

“No,” he rasped, eyes darting around, body tugging against the strong arm holding him in vain. “No. You’re wrong. I like women. I’m in love with Gwen. I don’t like men. I never have. It is wrong. Amoral. To bed another man is the highest sin. I am not… how dare you accuse me? I know what you do with men. You have no right… how dare you?! How dare you?!” 

He was shaking, he realized dully, heart pounding and aching. Gwaine was wrong. He had to be. Please. He had to be. 

Gwaine just looked at him, sorrow and pity warring with deep anger and resentment within his eyes. His hand was squeezing Arthur’s arm painfully tight. He was likely going to leave a bruise. Whatever. Physical wounds would heal. He’d forget the bruise in time. This… this he couldn’t ever forget. Though god would he try. 

“I pity you, Arthur. I accepted myself years ago. I knew I liked men as well as women from the tender age of nine. I never denied myself the way you do. I can only hope to be good enough to Merlin now that your repressed arse doesn’t break him completely when you both leave. He has nothing to fear from me. I’d follow him anywhere if given the chance. It’s you he should be afraid of. You and your homophobic mindset. Grow up, Arthur. Or you will lose him. Before you ever even have him. And I promise you; that would be your gravest mistake.” 

With that, Gwaine let him go, stepping back. Arthur, not expecting the man to let go so abruptly, fell to the ground as he had been straining so fiercely to be free, scraping his palms on the uneven stone as he landed. As he hissed at the pain, he looked up and saw Gwaine still standing there, eyes full of sorrow and regret and resignation as the sun light haloed around his golden-brown hair. He looked so much like a vengeful angel that Arthur couldn’t help how his breath stuttered in his chest. 

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for this, Arthur. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have hurt me deeply. And I’m not a man who is easily hurt. I have been nothing but loyal to you, even as you pushed me away. I stayed in this godforsaken village long after the only person I have ever truly loved died, for you. Hoping, praying, that one day you’d see me. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? Not about the way you look at men, at me, but that you’d ever wise up and admit it. I can only hope you realize the truth before you break that boy permanently. Or else I’ll be forced to hunt you down and kill you myself. And I’d hate to do that. It’d hurt Merlin if I did. Though only the spirits know why.” 

With that, Gwaine stormed away, his hurt bleeding from his every pore, his shoulders hunched and tight. Arthur could only watch him go, heart frozen and dead in his chest, trying to process the conversation and figure out how it had gone so utterly, completely, wrong. His mind was racing so fast, though, that it was all just a thick jumble of info, too much to handle. 

The only thing he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, was that he had just lost his best friend. Possibly for good. And he couldn’t even blame the man. The things he had said… Christ. He’d have killed anyone who dared to say even half the things he had said to his friend. He’d practically called Gwaine an amoral whore, had called him heartless, claiming that he was committing sin by being with a man. The worse part was that Arthur didn’t even believe it, any of it. He just knew what people said. What people thought. He’d never cared who was with who, though. Why had he said that? Why had he wanted to hurt his- now former- friend? He didn’t know why. 

Only… that was a lie. He did know why. He knew. He had wanted to hurt Gwaine, to make him regret his words. To show him how utterly _wrong_ he was. And he was. Wrong. Not because he liked men, but because he didn’t know Arthur like he thought he did. Arthur didn’t like men. He couldn’t. God, please. He couldn’t. 

He’d never known his father. But he lived to be the kind of man his father would have been proud of. There had never been a confirmation that his father had died. His mother, when she spoke of him, had only ever said that he had ‘gone away.’ Not that he had died. So, he had hope, deep within him, that he’d see his father one day. That the man would look at him, his only son, and feel such pride and love for him. 

His father could never love him if he loved another man. If he lied with another man. How could he? His father had been a traditional person, a true Noble. Arthur knew that, had been told that. He’d have hated Arthur for even entertaining the thought.

Arthur remembered, abruptly, the day he had first met Gwaine. He would later learn that the boy and his mother had just fled their previous home, the village set on fire as sorcerer soldiers marched through to wage war on his previous kingdom. His younger sister had been shot by an arrow while they fled, succumbing to her wounds a few days later. Gwaine had looked so angry, at first, so full of hate and distrust. Arthur, twelve and idealistic, had wanted to help him. To save him. To play the gallant knight and rescue the boy who was so trapped in his own mind. 

And he had. It had taken a little time, about three months, but he had finally wormed his way through the other boy’s defenses and had gotten to know him. He’d introduced him to his other friends and together they all got up to so much mischief. He had been so happy and proud. He had ignored the lingering looks that the boy had given him, the way his hands lingered on his body far longer than any of his other friends’ hands had. He remembered the way Gwaine would look at him. Like he was the whole world. Like he was everything. It had always made his heart ache to see it, but he’d push it down. Would ignore it. 

But he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He had been wrong, when he’d said Gwaine loved no one. So desperately wrong. 

Because Gwaine loved him. 

But he’d been too stubborn to ever see it. Had ignored it like he ignored everything that didn’t fit into his idealistic world view. And now… now he had lost the best friend he had ever known. 

He felt that loss so keenly in that moment that he gasped, tears filling his eyes as he stared down at the ground. Oh, God. What had he done? 

He had always wondered why Gwaine stayed in town even though his mother had died when he’d been only seventeen, leaving the usually joyous and carefree boy so broken and distraught. It had taken Arthur many more months, months of careful work, of kind smiles and earnest pleas, before he’d seen the boy smile again. And the first time he had seen it had been like a gift. Like he’d been rewarded something from the gods. It had been glorious and brilliant and amazing. The man hadn’t had to stay, though. He could have gone anywhere, done anything. He often spoke of it, of leaving Camelot for good, of wandering the whole continent with nothing but a sword in his hands and a pack on his back. Arthur always wondered, late at night, heart clenching, why the boy didn’t. 

Seemed now he knew the answer. 

And suddenly… suddenly, he realized something. He realized that once this was over… once he had left with Merlin… once there was nothing holding him here… he knew that Gwaine would leave too. Would finally make good on his promise to leave and would probably never return. Would he ever see Gwaine again, if he left Fayford for good?

And it was with that thought that the tears finally spilled, Arthur sitting on the cold, hard ground, palms bloody, upper arm aching, sobbing as silently as he could. 

He would never make this right, he feared. Would never see his friend again, once this quest was over. He’d never get to see that smile, feel that warm arm around him. Feel the butterflies that would bloom within him whenever the other boy was around. Feel the heat when they’d been drinking, when their eyes would meet and then wouldn’t tear away from each other for long, long minutes. 

God. How long had he been in love with Gwaine, too? 

But no. No. He couldn’t think that. He _couldn’t_. Why couldn’t Gwaine see that? Why did Gwaine always have to push? To pull? To try and get Arthur to admit things that weren’t- that couldn’t be true? 

He couldn’t stop how his mind lingered on That Moment, the one so many years ago. The one he had tried so hard to forget. 

He had been eighteen. He had been angry and upset because he had seen Gwen giggling and flirting with Lancelot, the boy flirting back for once. Usually Lance was content to stand back and let Arthur court Gwen, but sometimes he would fight against it and would welcome the girl’s advances, usually after a fight with him. It would always leave Arthur bitter and angry, wanting to drink his sorrows away. And who better to drink with than Gwaine?

As he’d drunk ale after ale, whiskey after whiskey, he had started to feel pleasantly numb. But he had never gotten so far gone that he lost all of his senses. Not like the night with the goat. No, he had been in control, if only a little. 

And he had just… Gwaine had been so kind. So caring. He wrapped it up in his usual indifference, had grinned roguishly at him as they drank in Gwaine’s small, quiet house, but Arthur knew him so well. Better than he knew himself, that’s for damn sure. He could see the way his eyes looked at him. Lingered on him. Beseeching and wanting and loving and Arthur…

Arthur…

Arthur had been weak. His heart had been hurting so goddamn much. He’d been so focused on Gwen for so many years. It was like he was losing her. But he still had Gwaine. He’d always have Gwaine. And that thought…

The first second his lips had touched the other boy’s had been like a rebirth. He had kissed Gwen before, soft and sweet, stolen kisses behind houses, in little sheds or alleyways. He’d kissed other girls, too, though not as many as some of the other boys. But those kisses… they had felt nothing like this one. They had been sweet and innocent and almost childish. The kiss he had shared with Gwaine… it was deep. And rich. And _right_ , in a way that nothing on Earth had ever felt like. It was like giving in to something he had hidden for so very, very long. And it had been glorious. 

He would have let Gwaine fuck him, if the boy had wanted, even though he’d always wanted to wait until he was married. Would have welcomed it, moaning, wanting. Pleading. But Gwaine had sat back, eyes full of emotions. Of heartbreak and longing and _love_. It had taken his breath away. Arthur wasn’t a stupid man. He knew. He _knew_. But he was so good at ignoring what he didn’t want to see. At refusing the truth that was so blindly clear. 

“No,” the man had said, holding Arthur back with gentle hands, smoothing away the hurt look with a tender smile. “You are drunk. If I ever have you, it’ll be because you actually, truly want it. I will not play second fiddle, the rebound side affair. I cannot. I respect myself more than that. If, and only if, you truly want it will I give in. Now come, Arthur. Let me take you home.” 

He had tried so long to forget the words. Had gotten piss drunk the second he’d gotten home, hoping it would erase the moment from his mind forever. But it hadn’t. He had never forgotten. Couldn’t forget. Couldn’t forget the phantom lips on his, the warm, roving hands on his body. He had never wanted like he had wanted in that moment. He hated it. He loved it. 

And he’d never have it again. 

More tears fell from his eyes at the admission, putting his head in his hands and pulling his hair tight, palms stinging badly. Why? Why did he have to be like this? Why couldn’t he have just been normal?! Why couldn’t he have just loved Gwen and never have met fucking _Gwaine_?! That man had ruined him. From the minute he had met him he had been ruined inside. 

But that wasn’t even true. Even before Gwaine had arrived in town he had noticed the way boys just looked so nice sometimes. The way their arms moved, muscles rippling. He’d been six the first time he’d seen a man naked, entirely by accident. A drunkard running down the street in front of him and his mother, pausing to catch his breath as he was run out of the home of a woman whose husband had arrived home early. And instead of looking away in shame, he’d looked down, at the man’s crotch, in interest. His mother had scolded him, said it was rude to stare, but he hadn’t understood. Not then. He did now. 

He did now. 

He hated himself. He truly did. He wished he could rip the feelings out of his chest and shove them into a box and set it on fire. He had always settled on housing them in a box in his own chest, but it never kept. The feelings were too strong. Too powerful. He couldn’t keep them at bay. 

Especially not around Merlin. His other half. His destiny. 

He sobbed some more, for several long minutes. He didn’t even know how long he’d been there before his knees started to hurt, eyes aching at the strain they were going through. He never cried. Men didn’t cry. He knew that. His uncles had taught him that. He wasn’t a man, not here. In this dirty alley, hands bloody, eyes awash in tears. Longing for a man, longing to be held by strong, solid arms. Longing for Merlin to be there, to put his arms around him, to hold him tight and never let him go. Whispering sweet nothings to him. Whispering everything to him. Loving him. 

His father would have been so ashamed. 

After a while, he had lost all his tears. There were no more that he could shed. He was empty, inside and out. Hollow. A pale imitation of the person he once had been. 

He had lost his best friend. 

He had lost everything. 

But he had to be strong. He was Arthur Pendragon, last of his line. He would be strong here. 

And so. Even as his heart ached. Even as it bled and screamed and begged. Even as it whispered how tired it was, to please just give in…

He pushed the emotions down and stood up. He scrubbed his eyes, hoping they weren’t too red. He locked his feelings up in a little box, never to be seen again. And then he squared his shoulders, pasted a bright, overly false smile on his face, and headed home. 

The first thing he was met with upon his return was Merlin pacing the floor, looking worried and wane. His eyes shot up to Arthur upon him opening the door, the tension flooding from his body as relief flooded his face. 

“Arthur! You’re alright! You’d been gone so long, I was worried.”

Arthur had felt his heart lurch at that, but he pushed it down. Like he always had. Like he always would. He just snorted, smirking in apparent amusement. 

“Well, now you know how I feel. I was just talking with Gwaine about our plans. After, I decided to get some fresh air, take a walk around. It’s going to be busy the next few days, could do with some last minutes of peace.”

Merlin accepted the lie easily, smiling as he sat down in one of the small armchairs, looking into the fire. Arthur looked around his house numbly, eyes unseeing. It was a decent sized room. A fireplace on one wall, near to the kitchen, the other walls hewn stone. There were numerous chairs lying about, brought there by his friends over the years and never having left. There were two small armchairs and a table near the fire, as well as several deep, red and gold rugs, the color of Pendragon. The kitchen attached to the living space, with only a change in flooring and size being the divide. His mother wasn’t in the kitchen, he noticed blandly. She was probably back at work. It was only him and Merlin in the house, the girls gone too. He blinked his eyes furiously as he remembered all the times that he and Gwaine had played in this house, wrestling and joking, their arms wrapped tight around each other in the only way acceptable. 

“Arthur? Are you alright?” Startled, Arthur looked up, Merlin squinting at him with concern. “I’m sorry. You just… look distraught. Like something bad happened. Did you hear any bad news about the sorcerers while you were out?” 

Merlin looked so concerned, so beseeching. Arthur had almost wanted to spill everything, to confess to it all, but he locked it up. Instead, he just smiled tightly and sat in the other armchair, feeling so tightly wound that he was surely about to burst. 

“Nah. Nothing bad. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Arthur,” Merlin stressed, eyes hard on Arthur as he tried desperately to look anywhere but his friend. He caved after a moment, so weak, staring deep into Merlin’s bright blue eyes. Like an ocean. Or the sky at dusk. Endless and vast and terrifying. Beautiful. 

“Talk to me. Please. You’re my friend. Let me help you. Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. Let me help.”

Christ. He hated this. How was he supposed to ignore his emotions when they kept swelling like this? Unbidden, tears rose to his eyes again, a half sob escaping his mouth. When Merlin half stood, eyes bright with concern, he waved him off, clearing his throat as he scrubbed his stupid eyes. Luckily, Merlin listened and sat with a thump on the chair, though his concerned gaze never wavered. Damn him. Curse him. 

“Really. It’s nothing. I just got into an argument with Gwaine. That’s all.”

Yeah. That was all. Like it was so simple. Like it was just ‘an argument.’ Like he hadn’t just ruined a nine-year friendship in less than ten minutes. Nothing. It was just… nothing. 

Merlin made a noise of compassion, tutting softly. 

“Oh, Arthur. I’m sure he’ll forgive you. You’ve been friends for a long time. And Gwaine’s an easy-going guy. He’ll forgive you. I’m sure he will.”

No, he thought, throat closing. He won’t. 

“No,” he said, eyes dead. “He won’t.”

“Come on, Arthur. Whatever disagreement you had couldn’t have been that bad. You seemed fine this afternoon. He loves you, I’m sure of it. You’ll be just fine.”

Loves. Loves him. More like loved him. He doubted Gwaine cared about him at all right about then. He didn’t blame him. He hated himself enough. But suddenly… he looked up at Merlin, eyes alight with a plan. A stupid, ridiculous plan, but a plan nonetheless. 

“Merlin. You’re friends with Gwaine, right?” 

Confused, Merlin nodded slowly. “Yeah. I suppose I am.”

“Good. He’ll need a friend. I know I have no right to ask anything of you. You are doing so much for me just by being here. But please, Merlin. I ask this as your friend. Next time you see Gwaine, help him. He… I hurt him. Badly. I said things I shouldn’t have, and I can’t ever take them back. I could apologize until I’m blue in the face, but I won’t be able to make this right. But he needs someone. Please, help him. He lo- cares about you. I can see it. He needs you. So please. Be there for him. Please.”

He was pleading. He had once told himself he’d never plead for anything. He was breaking that promise so much these days. But this was important. Maybe he couldn’t make thing right. But Merlin could. Sweet, innocent Merlin. He could. 

Merlin looked so lost, so utterly confused. He could see that Merlin wanted to argue, wanted an explanation, but he must have seen the deep sorrow in his eyes, because Merlin said nothing. He just nodded and smiled tightly. Silence reigned for several minutes as Arthur looked away, into the fire, eyes dull and dead. 

“I do think you’re wrong,” Merlin whispered, minutes later. Arthur closed his eyes but said nothing as he half turned his face towards Merlin. “He’ll forgive you anything. I know it. But I will talk with him. I’ll make sure he’s okay. Later. After dinner. I’ll take him a meal, if your mother is willing, and check on him. He’s a horrid cook, I know. I’ll make sure he’s not hurting. I promise you, Arthur. Okay?”

Oh Merlin. Dear, amazing Merlin. Arthur wanted to kiss him so bad. So very bad. But he pushed it down, squeezing his eyes shut tighter to ignore how they ached. He breathed deep, trying to get the lump out. 

“Thank you, Merlin. It means more to me than I can possibly say. Gwaine has been probably my best friend, ever since I was twelve. I don’t even remember life without him by my side. It’s felt like he’s been there, all along, instead of only nine years. I can’t bear the thought of him hurting alone. He’s been alone for far too long.” 

Merlin sighed, sounding exasperated, but he said nothing. Arthur could practically feel his sympathetic gaze, though. It hurt. He didn’t deserve it. 

And so, he stood and muttered about going to lie down and rest. After all. He hadn’t slept well that night. 

Merlin mercifully said nothing, just wished him a good rest, and so he had headed upstairs, practically running. His palms stung something fierce, his upper left arm bruised and aching. Once in his room he felt morbid curiosity rise in him and he lifted the sleeve of his shirt, just high enough to see where he felt the mark. And, sure enough, there was a deep blueish-black bruise forming on his arm, almost perfectly shaped like a hand. More tears filled his eyes as he saw it, saw the way he had made his once friend, usually so gentle and caring with him, so angry and sad that he’d had to bruise him to get him to see. To get him to listen. 

And still. 

He refused. 

He _couldn’t_.

Gwaine didn’t understand, he thought numbly, as he sat on his mattress, the weight of the world bearing down on him. Gwaine didn’t have a grand destiny. He wasn’t supposed to be the Once and Future King. Whatever the fuck that entailed. He could just wander the Earth, pleased as punch.

Arthur couldn’t do that. He had a responsibility to his people. To these very lands. He owed his life and love to freeing them all. He couldn’t let his heart get in the way. He couldn’t. 

As he laid down, closing his eyes, he wondered what it would be like if he could. 

If he could have Merlin the way he knew, deep down, that he desperately wanted to have him. To love him fully, deeply. To hold him every night, to be the reason he screamed in pleasure. To be the cause of those bruises he hid so poorly on his neck. To be the cause of his happiness. 

His breath hitched as he imagined holding Merlin. Of holding his entire world in his arms. 

He fell asleep aching and wanting. 

And heartbreakingly empty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Arthur. Poor Gwaine. And poor, confused Merlin. :-( Things get better soon, though, don't worry dear readers. ^-^


	15. A Cause They've Long Ago Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _~~~Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather  
>  (war bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions)  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> (Generals order their soldiers to kill)  
> Gather it all in a bunch of heather  
> (And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten)  
> Then she'll be a true love of mine~~~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This chapter. It's...
> 
> Okay. So, I have this thing where I try not to sabotage my work before people read it. But I'm not the biggest fan of this chapter. It just seems all over the place. I think I wanted to get this story line over with, so it's kind of rushed. And as for the Gwaine and Merlin part of this chapter... I'm not the biggest fan of that, either. I'll go into more detail about this in the end notes, but this whole chapter is very Meh to me. 
> 
> Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone for the comments and reviews on the last chapter! I am posting this story on both AO3 and FF . net, but have mostly been getting response on the AO3 version. So the reviews from FF . net is a nice bonus. Thanks everyone!! As said, I tend not to reply to reviews or comments unless they have questions, but I do appreciate them all the same.
> 
> Also! The title for this chapter comes from [Scarborough Fair ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABokQpjvELU), the arrangement done by Simon and Garfunkle. I recommend this song, but I recommend looking up the version by Dan Avidan, which I've linked above on AO3 (Sorry, FF . net still doesn't allow links!). The video is so sad, but amazing. Also, Dan's voice is just *chef kiss* beautiful. I originally had another song as the title for this chapter, but I felt this song fit better, for both parts. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Okay. Merlin was officially deeply concerned. 

He held the still warm plate of roast chicken, with a side of the last of the sweet peas and corn for the season. He knocked gently at the door he stood before, hoping that Gwaine was in. When he heard the raspy “come in,” he’d been deathly concerned. And now? Now he was fully and utterly worried. 

He hadn’t known Gwaine long. It felt like he’d known him forever, like Arthur had said, but it had been maybe three days. But still. He knew how strange it was to see the man staring dead into the fireplace, eyes unseeing and uncaring. The man hadn’t even looked up at him as he entered, not saying any form of acknowledgement, or greeting. He gave no inclination that he’d heard him at all, in fact.

He had started feeling concerned when Arthur hadn’t returned from his talk with Gwaine. It had been strange, Arthur demanding to talk to Gwaine once lunch had ended, smile sharp as glass and eyes just as deadly. Gwaine has frozen, frown on his face, before nodding with a careless grin. Gwaine had whispered something to him, about how he would see him tonight, and had then left with a swagger. And if Merlin’s eyes had lingered on that beautiful arse, well. He was only human. 

But then neither boy had returned. For nearly an hour he had waited, eyes going tight with worry as more and more time passed. He had suddenly appreciated Arthur’s plight from that morning a whole lot more. It was awful. 

Hopefully, he thought, heart sinking, it wasn’t the same thing keeping both boys then as it was that had kept himself the night before. 

But, no. Arthur was straight. He wouldn’t… no. Right?

Before he could go out looking, Arthur had entered the house, false smile bright on his lips. His eyes, though… they were dead. God. What had happened? 

He had asked but was brushed off. But he was nothing if not persistent. He pressed. And Arthur crumbled. A little. 

He was still so confused, even after the explanation. Why had he argued with Gwaine? Why were they so angry at one another? Why did Arthur look like someone had died, rather than having a small row with a friend? Unless it wasn’t a small row. But what did they have to argue about?

Was it... but no, Merlin dismissed instantly. It couldn’t have been him. He wasn’t so arrogant as to believe that. Maybe the plan? Something?

And then. Then. 

Arthur had asked him, begged him, _pleaded_ with him to go to Gwaine and look after him. And then he’d went upstairs to sleep. 

Merlin had no idea what to think. 

Dinner had come and gone without a peep from the other boy. Merlin had explained to the others that Arthur was feeling tired from the night before, having not slept well, and wanted to get some rest since they’d need to be well-rested for the coming days. The girls had accepted it easily enough, nodding simply before chatting with one another. Merlin had tried to join in, answering Ygraine’s questions about palace life, but it was hard. He was so worried. 

After dinner had ended, he had brought Arthur up a plate, watching the man sleep for a minute as he left the food by his head, worry filling him to the brim. 

And now here he stood. Looking at Gwaine, one of the strongest, most exuberant men he’d ever met, who was staring dead eyed and dull into a dying fire. And he was so bloody worried his heart felt like it’d fall out on him. 

“Gwaine,” he begged, setting the plate on the small table before the fire as he knelt before his lover slash friend, promptly forgetting about the thing as soon as it left his hands. Gwaine didn’t even look up. “Please, Gwaine. Look at me. Talk to me. Please,” he stressed, reaching out with soft fingers to touch the man. Gwaine didn’t start, but he did blink, eyes lifting minutely from the fire. They still didn’t focus on him, but it was at least acknowledgment. 

“I spoke to Arthur. He said you’d had a falling out. I know how pigheaded and stupid he can be, but I’m sure whatever he said he hadn’t meant. Please Gwaine. At least look at me.”

He tried so hard to put all his feelings into his words, his concern bleeding from his lips as well he could. And, to his relief, it worked. Gwaine looked up at him, not meeting his eyes but staring somewhere around his chin. But it was something. 

“Don’t talk about him. I never want to hear that name again,” was Gwaine’s raspy reply. It sounded like he had been eating gravel. _Or had been crying for hours_ , he heard a voice whisper inside him, making him shudder. The more he thought of it, the more he realized that Gwaine’s eyes were red and puffy. He would have thought the man was drinking, but there wasn’t a bottle in sight. That’s how he knew it was bad. Only a man who wanted to be in pain didn’t drown their sorrows away. 

God. What had Arthur done? Gwaine was not a wilting flower. Merlin was. Merlin was the kind to cry for hours because someone he cared about said a mean thing to him. He remembered bawling his eyes out anytime he’d row with Freya, believing she’d hate him forever. But that was him. He’d always been emotional, ever since birth really. He had cried for hours and hours after his mother had given birth to him, Gaius had once told him with a fond laugh. He just felt things so deeply. Like he was interconnected with the entire universe and could feel its intense sorrow. Or something. 

But Gwaine wasn’t like that. Fair, he hadn’t known him long, but he was a good judge of character. This wasn’t like Gwaine. If he were sad, Merlin had the feeling he’d go straight for a bottle. He wouldn’t sit and wallow, eyes dead and dull. What had happened? 

Frustrated, Merlin did the only thing he could think of to get that look off Gwaine’s face. 

Kissing Gwaine was so easy. Like breathing a breath of fresh air after hours of stale, stagnant air. It was so very nice. And, after a moment, Gwaine kissed back, though he was restrained, holding back. Not liking that, Merlin pushed the man back in his seat, straddling his legs as he wound his fingers deep in the long, brown locks. Gwaine moaned at that, hips surging upwards towards Merlins heat, making Merlin gasp, and then groan. He ground down, body electrified as Gwaine keened, soft and needing, hand grasping his hips so tight, and yet so gentle. The pair stayed like that for long minutes, grinding against one another while they kissed passionately, until the tension in Gwaine suddenly released, the man going boneless under him while Merlin helplessly followed. 

Merlin leaned against the man for minutes after, just panting while he ran his fingers through silky hair. 

“Talk to me, Gwaine,” he whispered, kissing the man’s neck so gently. Gwaine keened again, holding him tighter. 

“I don’t deserve you,” the man whispered instead, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s temple, lips brushing his cheek each time he breathed. Merlin shuddered and turned his head to press his forehead to Gwaine’s. 

“Nonsense. Utter nonsense. I’m nothing special. But please. Let me help you. Unburden your mind. Maybe I can help?”

“Oh, Merlin. You already have, you beautiful man,” Gwaine whispered, looking at him so tenderly and with so much love Merlin ached. He wished he could stay here with him. Forever. To love him for the rest of his life. Maybe this would be better for him than pining after a straight man all his life. Maybe…

“I loved him,” Gwaine confessed, several moments later. At Merlin’s confused look, Gwaine continued, mirthless smile on his lips. “Arthur. When I came to this village, I’d been broken and sad. I’d watched so many of my friends die needlessly as your father’s men stormed through our village, causing death and destruction in their wake. My little sister… she was hurt, shot through the shoulder. She… didn’t make it. Your father had already indirectly been the cause of my father’s death, this was just one more thing. I had been so angry. Prepared to storm the castle myself and kill him where he stood.”

Merlin felt sick. He let his hand slacken, suddenly wondering why Gwaine was letting him so near him. Goddess. No wonder the man had hated him. Probably still hated him.

As Gwaine noticed Merlin’s distress, the man’s eyes widened, panic in his eyes as he clutched Merlin to him. 

“No, my love. I am not mad at you. I was, at first. So very angry. I hated you for all you stood for. For the sins of your father. But you are not him. I see that now. And I could never hate you. Not now. Not after having tasted your decadent lips. Have held your warm heat in the palms of my hands, tasted it on my tongue. No. I could never hate such sweetness. Please, forgive me.” 

He said it with such desperation. Like he couldn’t bear the thought of Merlin hating him or being angry at him. Merlin felt tears rise to his eyes, once again proving how emotional he was, but he nodded quick, smiling sadly. After a second, Gwaine nodded slowly, leaving forward to kiss Merlin chastely. 

“I just meant that I was very much not okay following my move here. Everything hurt. I was so very angry. So bitter. When I saw a young boy staring at me, hair golden, eyes blue as a river, it had been the first time I’d felt anything other than rage in weeks. He’d looked so sweet and innocent. My one weakness. I had wanted him from that moment on. I made him work for it, work to get to know me, but he never gave up. So persistent. How could I not love him?”

Gwaine chuckled mirthlessly, eyes bleeding sorrow as he looked into the almost dead fire. The sun was setting rapidly, the blinds closed besides, so the room was almost pitch black, only a few candles and the dying fire giving light. The fire reflected in Gwaine’s eyes, danced on his face, making him look ancient. 

“But he couldn’t love me. Refused to. I was so confused. Still am, to this day. I could see that he wanted me. I never denied myself anything, thinking it madness to deny yourself earthly pleasures. I couldn’t understand him. But I tried. Even if I only ever had him as a friend, it was enough. I lingered in this village long after my stay was welcome, all because I couldn’t bear to tear myself away from him. I’d ride sometimes, days and days away. Weeks upon weeks. I’d dream about never coming back, of making my own destiny out there, in the open. But then I’d see his eyes in my mind. His smile. And I’d be rushing back. To see him mope over the ‘girl of his dreams,’ who was destined to love another.”

Gwaine paused, shuddering. Merlin didn’t dare to say a word. Gwaine had clearly been building up these words inside him for years, with no one to tell. His heart ached for this man, for his silent suffering. After all. It had been less than four months and he knew what it was like to suffer Arthur’s unrequited love. He couldn’t imagine nine years of it. 

“These last few months have been torture without him. I suppose I hated you most for that. For taking him away from me. I almost wanted to ride into Camelot myself to visit him. Save him. His letters were also so dreary. I have no idea why, now. You’re nothing like he wrote about. I can’t understand why he’d do that, other than to think it was the same reason he would yell at me sometimes, scream at me that he hated me and that I should leave him alone forever. Too much emotion trapped inside him that he lashed out.”

Gwaine sighed deeply as he shifted, his arms carefully maneuvering Merlin around so that his head rested comfortably against Gwaine’s chest. He didn’t like the position because it didn’t allow him to see Gwaine’s eyes, but as his hair began to have gentle fingers in it, carding through the messy strands, he felt more at peace with it. Besides. If Gwaine wanted to hide his pain, he wasn’t going to force him against it. He was saying so much, sharing so much more than Merlin deserved. He’d do anything if it helped this man.

“You see, Arthur adores his father. Or his image of his father. He never knew the man, the man fleeing the village when he’d been only a few months old. But he has an image of him so clearly in his mind and he’d do anything to please it. Thinking that one day his father will return and see the son he’d always wanted. The perfect heir.”

Gwaine snorted, fingers pulling his hair a little too roughly. Merlin didn’t mind. He just hummed and drew random shapes on Gwaine’s clothed chest, eyes blurring as he listened as intently as he possibly could. 

“It’s a sham. Arthur has no idea what his father would or wouldn’t approve of. It’s his own insecurities eating him from the inside out. Oh, how I tried to help him. To get him to see what was so plain to me. That life was about living, having fun. Doing what pleases you. Not about repression and guilt and self-hatred. He was such a strong person, carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. Like a battle-weary prince, not a lowly farm boy. 

I could never get him to see reason, though. Never. It was like trying to get blood from a stone. Impossible and mind-numbingly tedious. But I never gave up. I always had hope that one day… one day he’d see me. One day, maybe, he…”

Gwaine broke off at that, taking a deep breath and letting it out, shaking. 

“I loved others. As I told you, I’ve loved every person I’ve ever been with, holding them deep in my heart forever. A man can love a hundred others just as good as he can love a single one. I’ve always believed that to be true. But none held my fancy. None made my blood boil. Not like him. Some would beg me to stay. Would beg me to reconsider my one rule. But I never could. I would never be what they wanted me to be. I was too wild. Too angry. Too free. I could never be chained down, stuck forever in a single place. Staying here so long has driven me nuts as it is. I could never be a good husband. I don’t have it in me.”

Merlin disagreed, but he didn’t dare interrupt. Gwaine needed to get this out. He’d comment later. 

“Arthur called me heartless. Said I loved no one. Said that I ‘prey on the innocent and vulnerable.’ I could read between the lines. I know him better than he knows himself. He was talking about my feelings for him. I know he was.”

Gwaine broke off again, clearing his throat, which sounded thick. Merlin pulled back and looked Gwaine deep in his eyes, hoping the sympathy he felt was plain. He saw the sorrow that lived deep within those brown eyes and longed to wrap him up and make the hurt go away. But he couldn’t. He could only listen and hope that Gwaine would feel better after having released the emotions he had built up for near a decade. 

“After everything I have done for him. Everything I have sacrificed. After my mother died, I wanted to leave. I wanted it so badly. I hated staying in this house, everything reminding me of her. But I stayed. For him. To be near him. And all along he resented me for it. I wish I had. Had left and never come back. Had left without a worry, without a care. And I think I will, once this is done. I’ll take off and stay gone. Find my destiny out there on the road. Not trapped here, in this dead-end village, broken and bleeding.”

Gwaine rested his head in the crook of Merlins neck, breathing in his scent. 

“I have loved him so long I don’t know who I would be if I ever stopped. Even now, I feel it within me. Oh, I feel so bad for you, my beautiful, brave lion cub. The pain you will suffer these next few years… but you have something that I never had. You... you may be able to do what I never could. And I only pray that you can. You deserve happiness. And, while I am so very angry and upset at him right now, so does he. I’d do anything for him to see reason and finally give in to the feelings he’s denied for so long. Yet I fear he won’t. Even after my anger. After my sorrow. He’s too stubborn. Too prideful. He’d rather suffer than think of disappointing a ghost.” 

The words were whispered against his pulse, so soft and sorrowful. Merlin couldn’t help the gasp he gave, a tear running down his cheek unbidden. Suddenly, he could feel it. The weight of his love. The burden of it. And suddenly…

He didn’t want it. 

He didn’t want to suffer. He wanted to be happy. As he looked at Gwaine, the other man smiling softly at him even as he wiped the single tear away, he suddenly longed to leave this all behind. To go somewhere better. To wander the earth. Forever. 

With Gwaine. 

“Let’s go. After this is done. You and me. We can travel the whole bloody world together. I’ll keep you safe. You’ll keep me safe. We can make love each night beneath the moon. We can go to the coast, watch the waves lapping at the shore. Have you ever seen the ocean? I know you’d love it, it’s so big and vast and empty. Uncharted. We could rent a boat, sail for a while. Leave Camelot and Fayford far behind. We would never have to come back. Just you and me. Me and you. Together.”

His voice was whisper quiet, like he was afraid of breaking the world if he spoke too loudly. Like if he spoke too loudly, his father would hear and storm into the room, tearing him away from the one thing that had caused him happiness in years. Because heavens forbid that he ever actually be _happy_. Heavens forbid he actually enjoy his life, instead of suffering day after day after day. Heavens forbid he be in love with a man who was capable of _loving him back_.

The way Gwaine looked at him… it was like he had said everything he had ever wanted. Like his words were more precious than gold. Like Merlin meant more to him than life itself. It was a humbling look. But then Gwaine’s face shuttered, a helpless smile on his face as his eyes bled sorrow. 

“That sounds incredible, my love. And you don’t know how much I long to accept. You are the one person I’ve met who has ever gotten as close to my heart as him. But it’s not the life for you. You belong in Camelot. You will be king one day. And you will be a great one. Better than any of those before you. You care so much. So deeply. You will bring Camelot to greatness. I can’t be responsible for taking that from you. I won’t.”

Suddenly, Merlin was angry. Not at Gwaine, never at Gwaine. But at the world. For having dealt him the shittiest of hands. For continually making his life one constant pain after another. He felt a sob escape his throat, Gwaine shushing him as strong arms wrapped tight around him, making him feel so safe, and secure, and _loved_. Oh. He wished to stay like this forever. 

“Please. Gwaine, please. I hate it there. My father hates me. I don’t know why. I have done everything to please him. There’s just something wrong with me. I can’t be strong like him. I cry at the simplest things. A baby bird once fell from a tree and was half dead when I found it and I cried for hours, trying to nurse it back to health. I- I hate how he kills people, without a single care. Like they’re nothing. Just because they either can’t or choose not to use magic. It’s not someone’s fault how they are born. Or even what they choose to do or not do. I can’t stand watching as he looks with disinterest on crying, screaming women and children, begging their loved one to be saved. I’ve seen him kill children. _Children_. He asks me to understand, but how the hell can I? How can I return there? How can I ever face him? I love him dearly, as he is my father. But there are times I _hate_ him more than anything. And I can’t stand myself for feeling such. I really… I really can’t.”

He’d never said any of this before. Not even to Freya. He felt it was only fair. Gwaine has shared something so deep, so personal. It was only fair he returned the favor. Besides. He doubted Gwaine would judge him. 

“And I can’t bear the thought of loving another man who will never love me. I love so deeply, I know I do. Everyone always tells me that. I can’t bear it, Gwaine. Not now that I’ve had this. Had something good. Something pure. How can I go back to that, knowing what actual happiness tastes like? I can’t. Please, don’t make me. I’m begging you. Please.”

He was crying again. He hated it. So much. Gwaine shushed him again, rocking him lightly as he did so. It was so soothing. He wanted to sleep and never wake up. He wanted…

“But that is your life. Your destiny. I’ve never put much stock in destiny, thinking it something you followed only loosely, if at all. A guide, not a rule. But I can’t deny how our paths do not intertwine. Oh, I hope that I will see you again, that we will reunite one day, and that reunion will be glorious. I will pray to every god I have never believed in for it to be true. But we are not made for each other. This much I know.”

Gwaine sighed, soft, and kissed the top of his head gently. 

“He needs you. I know you are a prince and he is your servant, but he needs you so much. I see it in the way he looks at you. He was angry at me for defiling you, by the way. He’s only ever been that protective with Gwen before. I know how he feels about you, just like I know how he feels about me. It’s just up to you to get him to admit it. If you ever can. If you’re up to the task. I understand if you’re not. I would never blame you that. But if you do decide it’s too much… be kind, please. I don’t want him hurt. I don’t know if I could bear it. Even after all he said. Ha. And here I was, thinking I’d never be a lovesick fool. God, strike me down.” 

Merlin cried again at the words, pressing close to Gwaine, but he could feel the truth. He knew his destiny. He would rule Camelot one day. He’d have to. He’d make things right, fix the mistakes of his father. He’d right the world. But he could only do that if he returned. His father would never forgive him if he left for good. He’d be disowned in a heartbeat. His father didn’t care for him. Didn’t love him. Wouldn’t even care if he’d died. 

But that was fine. Because as long as he got the crown, one day, it would be worth it. He’d be twenty-one in a handful of months, would be crowned the crown prince and would be the rightful heir to the throne, fully and completely. He just had to make it there. 

He hated how power hungry that made him sound. He hated that his father couldn’t love him. Hated that he loved too much and too foolishly. Hated everything. Hated himself. 

But he didn’t hate Gwaine, he thought softly, leaning back to look the man in the eyes, sure his entire heart was bear for the other to see. And, as Gwaine stared back, eyes just as open, he couldn’t help but to kiss him. He would accept Gwaine’s words. Would accept his decree. But he would make the best use of the time they had left. 

And as Gwaine carried him to the bedroom, slowly and languidly removing his clothes, hot fingers trailing up and down his body like fire, like lightning. As he made love to him so softly, so sweetly, had let him use the oil that Gwaine had clearly used the night before to slick his cock up, nice and slippery, and officially lose his virginity, crying his lover’s name and his lover’s name alone as he came. As he laid in Gwaine’s arms after, the man holding him so tenderly, so lovingly he wanted to cry.

He knew it would tear his heart out to give this up. He had lost more of his heart to Gwaine than he had ever thought possible. But it was his now. Gwaine’s. It belonged to him and it would stay with him, even as he left. As he journeyed back home, Arthur by his side, both of them silently suffering for different reasons. 

Part of him still couldn’t believe Gwaine’s words. That Arthur could love a man. That he did, in fact, desire men. But he believed Gwaine exclusively. If he said it there must be some truth to the words. And if there was some truth…

He had hope. Hope, that one day, maybe far, far away, he’d have Arthur for good. Forever. Gwaine had waited nine years. Surely, he could, too? He was a patient man, willing to sacrifice everything, even his morality for the love of another. And he was no stranger to suffering. He knew well what sorrow tasted like. 

But now… now he thought, as he traced runes on Gwaine’s skin, making the man chuckle at the sensation, Gwaine grabbing his hand and kissing it fiercely… now, he knew what happiness tasted like, too. What pure joy tasted like. And it felt so, so good. So pure and sweet. He’d do anything to taste it again. One more time. 

And if his happiness wasn’t destined to be with Gwaine, well. He’d just have to suffer a little more before he found his true happiness. Hopefully in Arthur’s arms, but he’d take it any way he could get. 

And if he feared he was missing his one chance, that this was it for him. That the gods or fate, or God himself had gifted him this precious gift and he was casting it out. If he feared that if he left, he’d never get this feeling back, well. He’d lived with fear before. And he’d live with it again. 

Besides. He’d meet Gwaine again, one day. As the man slowly fell asleep, holding Merlin tight to his chest, breathing easy and calm, Merlin knew without a shadow of a doubt that their paths _would_ cross again. Destiny was cruel, but it could be kind sometimes, too. He’d make sure of it. He would be sure to keep in contact, sending letters and demanding them in return. He would need that much. 

As he drifted off, soft snores filling his ears as Gwaine fell asleep before him, he sent a word of thanks to whoever was watching him at the moment. To the Keeper of the Stars. 

Because, no matter what happened next. 

No matter what heartache he faced. 

He’d always remember this moment. 

And that thought made him smile. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

His stomach was roiling. Tension bled off him in waves. He could only watch as Arthur’s friends prepared their battlefield, mind numb and desperate as he tried to remember the plan.

It had been three days. Three days of absolute agony as his battered heart faced Arthur day after day, aching as he couldn’t force himself to meet the other’s eyes. Oh, he hated the fact he couldn’t. Hated that he was making the other boy suffer because of his inability. But he couldn’t help it. It hurt to look at him. All he could see was the anguish in Gwaine’s usually carefree face and he had felt such deep anger. Such protective instincts. It would steal his breath until he looked away, sure the overly-perceptive-for-everyone-but-himself boy would notice. And he hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Like Gwaine, no matter his inner rage and conflict… he hadn’t wanted to ever hurt Arthur. Ever. 

He was hurting him, though. He knew he was. Arthur looked so downtrodden the last few days, heartbroken almost. He knew a lot of it was anguish over losing his best friend, though, of breaking their relationship irreparably. And while Merlin knew Gwaine would always love Arthur, he also knew he would never be able to forgive him. Not just for the one night of anger and harsh words, no. Gwaine wasn’t such an arsehole he’d abandon someone for one bad night. 

It was all of it. Of nine years of unrequited love, of pining for a person he knew cared deeply for him yet refused to acknowledge it. Because, to him, there was something inherently wrong about feeling such a way. 

Merlin knew how that tortured Gwaine. Destroyed him inside. Gwaine always claimed to be carefree, to be a wanderer, never destined to stay too long in one place. But he had stayed nine years for a single man. A butterfly trapped in a spider’s web. Praying for freedom. For release. But never receiving it. 

And Merlin could see that path so clearly for himself. He ached with it. Wanted anything but it. Yet he knew it was the path he was destined to take. He was drawn so helplessly towards Arthur. It had to be destiny pulling them together. For what purpose, he had no idea. Destiny remained blind to him, for all his power. 

He had met a dragon once, years and years ago. Deep in the bowels of the castle. He’d wandered too far, too curious. He had been hearing a voice whisper to him for days and he had to find it. 

The dragon had terrified him. He’d seen dragons before, his father using them to gain power for himself, defeating his enemies with them. He’d one day inherit the power himself he knew that. But this dragon… it had been fearsome. Terrifying. 

And he’d said such strange things. Called him by his family name, had told him of a prophecy. A destiny. Something about that old bedtime story, the Once and Future King. He couldn’t recall all the details of their talk, but he had remembered his father’s panic and rage when he’d told him, even though the dragon had made him promise to never to tell anyone about their talk together. But he’d only been six. He had trusted his father completely, back then. That was before he had grown distant, before he pulled away. He had no reason to believe his father would grow unendingly angry with him. Yes, he’d been told time and time again to never wander into that part of the castle, but his father had forgiven him everything. Everything. 

But not that. 

Maybe Arthur was that king Kilgharrah- the name he would later learn of the Great Dragon he had met- had spoken of. His destiny. The other half of his single coin. Maybe that’s why he was so pulled to him. Arthur reminded him so much of the kings of old, after all. So noble and brave and true. He’d be a great king, if given the chance. Better than him, at least. And he was helpless against the way he was pulled to the other. 

But he also knew the story of the Once and Future King. While his father had banned all retellings of the tale, no one listened. The story gave them hope. An end to their nightmare. They’d whisper how the Once and Future King would join the world’s most powerful warlock and would bring down the tyrant king. Would free them and their lands for good and would reunite Albion in one fell swoop. 

And that’s where the story fell apart. 

Because he could never betray his father. Not now, not ever. No matter how much pain he felt, how much resentment bubbled within him. He’d never harm his king and father. He’d rather die first. 

So maybe the dragon was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t the warlock from the prophecy. 

Gaius believed he was, though. Gaius had tried to deny it, to say he didn’t believe it. But Merlin knew the older man too well, like he was a second father, or maybe grandfather. He’d told him once about his visit to the dragon, fearing the older man would hate him too, but not able to keep it in after all those years. He’d been nine when he’d told Gaius, tears streaming down his face, and Gaius had just shushed him, and held him, and told him it would all be alright. Told him that no future was set in stone, that destiny was not all it was promised to be. That the future was still his to mold as he saw fit. 

But, Merlin had always noticed, the older man had never outright denied the fact that he would be the powerful warlock. Had never given him that peace of mind. 

No. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t outright defy his father. This… what he was doing, in this village, this was just… alright, he saw what it was like, but he wasn’t outright defying him. His father had never told him not to go. Sure, he hadn’t known the truth, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be. 

And as he planted the bombs he and the girls had enchanted, Arthur’s friends having made them with careful fingers, he thought that firmly. He loved his father. He did. Deeply and fiercely and wanted nothing more than to make him proud. 

Maybe if he said it enough times it would become true. 

“You alright, my love?” A voice muttered to the side, warm arms wrapping around him from behind, kissing his neck softly. Oh, he gasped, leaning back into that warmth even as his eyes darted around to ensure they were safe. That no one could see them. He didn’t care as much anymore if they were caught, but it was an old habit by now. 

This had been the one good thing he had going for him. Each day had been agony, torture. But each night? Each night had been heaven. 

Remembering the silencing charms now, he would make love to Gwaine for hours upon hours every night. Passed the point of exhaustion for a normal man, he would renew their stamina with a whispered spell, Gwaine laughing heartily as he begged Merlin to teach him. But Gwaine was tragically magicless. He’d never be able to master such spells. Maybe a simple protection charm or two, but nothing more. He’d never say that to the man, just smiling happily at Gwaine’s impressed words, but he had a feeling the other man knew. He was wise, that way. 

It had been perfect. So lazy and languid and tragically beautiful. He’d fully entered into one of Freya’s romance novels and he didn’t even care. As long as he could lie on his stomach and trace runes of protection and healing on Gwaine’s skin, adding his magic to the blithe shapes, hoping they would actually work, he didn’t care. He’d even felt Gwaine enter him, once, the night previous, body shaking as he was filled in a way he’d never been before. It had hurt, and his bottom was still aching fiercely, but Gwaine had been so gentle and sweet. And it had, indeed, felt so utterly amazing. Heartbreakingly perfect. Arthur was the most foolish man alive, he felt, coming down from the most incredible high of his life. 

“What thoughts plague you, my darling, my dearest heart, the apple of my eye? Tell me, please. Unburden yourself.”

Merlin shuddered as he knees grew weak. He knew Gwaine was teasing, but it was still nice to hear, to be the subject of such teasing care. Oh. He’d miss this. So very much. 

“Just about an old story the servants of the castle would whisper about, that’s all. The Once and Future King. It’s nothing, though. Nothing to worry over.”

Gwaine hummed, arms tightening around his waist as his chin settled on his shoulder, nuzzling the base of his hair. Hmm. He would so hate to lose this. He was dreading the next day. They had figured they would be done with preparation by then. Merlin had sent Ewan, the youngest and most determined to prove himself of the group, to act as lookout. To keep him out of harm’s way, mostly. He’d been too eager. He’d get himself killed and Merlin couldn’t stand that. 

“I’ve heard that tale. Arthur used to pretend to be that king, gallant and true, slaying the evil from the world with a flick of his illegal sword. He’d try and get me to play the warlock, but I’d just laugh. I wasn’t built for such a role. He’d pout, though, so eventually I’d give in. Like always. Hm. Hadn’t thought of that tale in years. What brought it to your mind?”

Merlin hummed, mind racing with thoughts but keeping his immediate thoughts carefully blank. He just swayed in Gwaine’s grasp, making the other man chuckle softly. He loved that chuckle, now. Had no idea why it had ever bothered him. He’d miss it so fiercely…

“Just a thought. It’s nothing, though. Don’t worry about it. How are the preparations going?”

They continued in their conversation, chatting lightly about their plans for the following day. How Freya and Morgana would lead the men here, through mysterious means they refused to talk about. How they would use magic and subterfuge to confuse their enemy. Merlin didn’t mention how he didn’t intend to let any of the sorcerers survive. If they did, they’d surely be out for revenge and he’d be too far away to help. It made his insides squirm, pressing so firmly back against Gwaine’s chest that he felt he’d become one with the man, eyes squeezed shut. Gwaine kissed his neck gently, sucking light marks on his delicate skin as he whispered soft, comforting words. He didn’t deserve Gwaine. He really didn’t. 

It was when he opened his eyes and looked up that he gasped so loudly he almost felt his heart stop. For staring right at them, eyes glued to the lips that were still attached to his neck, was Arthur. 

The pair stared for a long minute, before he felt Gwaine step away from him, clearing his throat lightly. Arthur tore his eyes away at that, face red, but eyes distant. After a second, Arthur looked up with a strained smile and heartache in his eyes. And he nodded minutely, a touch of a real smile creeping in as he stared at the pair. 

And then he was gone. 

Merlin let out the breath he had been holding, gasping as oxygen flooded his brain. Gwaine gave him a look, smiling sadly, and grabbed his hand to kiss it gently. 

“Suppose we have his approval, then,” Gwaine muttered softly, shrugging. 

Merlin nodded absently, trying to calm his racing heart. Before he could, though, he heard Ygraine come running into the field, eyes frantic as she yelled for them all to come back to the village immediately. 

Something had happened. 

Instantly on edge, Merlin took one look at Gwaine before he took off running. So many thoughts ran through his head, heart pounding as he and the other boys fled back to town, all numb with terror. 

It took them ten minutes to make it, the mile and a half between the village and drowned farm never having seemed so vast, only to find the village perfectly fine. Peaceful, in fact. Gwaine shared a look with Merlin, wondering what the matter was. 

They learned a minute later as Arthur strode up, leading the group to his house with hard eyes, hands clenched as tears filled his oceanic eyes. 

As the group of men crowded into the small house, Merlin’s eyes landed instantly on the cause of Ygraine’s distress. And he couldn’t help the helpless gasp he let out, falling to his knees. 

Because there, lying on the kitchen table they had eaten breakfast on just that morning, was young Ewan. Eyes glazed in death. 

No. No, no. No. He’d sent Ewan to be a lookout to keep him _safe_. He was the youngest of the group. The baby. Barely sixteen, full of swagger and bravado. He’d had so much life in him. He couldn’t…

He watched, eyes numb as Arthur strode forward and grabbed the note Merlin hadn’t noticed with shaking hands that he tried to hide with a stony expression. Merlin could only watch as his face paled, gasping with emotion as he looked at his friends in horror. 

“They know we’re planning something. We might not have any choice. I think they’re planning to attack _tonight_.”

Everything crumbled around him at the words, heart shattering as the words rushed over him. No. His plan was good. It was solid. How...

They should have done it earlier. Had Merlin not been so selfish, so determined to stay here despite knowing the danger they all were in, this never would have happened. He should have marched into that forest and killed those men before they ever had the chance to even look at Ewan. Should never have gone into the forest to give the warning in the first place, alerting the renegades to possible trouble. The boy’s death was on his hands. 

“-Merlin, don’t. Don’t blame yourself, it’s not your fault-” he distantly heard Gwaine entreat, begging him to look at him, away from the body. Merlin felt his magic wrap around him when Gwaine tried to drag him away, pushing the man back, gently but firm. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to feel his failure. He wanted…

And then Arthur was there, arms around him, holding him tight, body blocking the view of the dead body. Merlin squirmed, magic rising around him like a fog, but the boy remained unaffected. Curse that damned medallion he’d given him all those months ago. He suddenly hated it, as sobs filled his chest, head buzzing with useless noise. 

It wasn’t fair. He’d planned so carefully. Down to the last detail. He’d overlooked nothing. He supposed, though, that he’d overlooked the intelligence of the renegades. They must have discovered which town they were from. Must have learned somehow. He hadn’t planned carefully enough. How could he have? He was just a boy. He’d never gone into battle before. He was a child playing grown up, swagger and bravado, his naivety and foolishness having ended up killing one of Arthur’s friends. 

But he had to get it together. He had caused this. He was responsible. 

And now he had to make it right. 

And so, he carefully peeled Arthur off him, startling the other boy with how silent he had fallen, eyes hard as steel as he stood and looked at the other men, lost in their mourning. But they had work to do. They had mere hours ‘til nightfall. They needed to work quick. 

“We can still salvage the plan. Percival, Lancelot, I need you to take the others and grab the remaining bombs, to gather the ones you can and return here as fast as you can. Arthur, Gwaine, you need to evacuate the town. Get them somewhere safe, somewhere they won’t be hurt. I will not let anyone else die tonight. We will fight as we have planned, we’ll just have to adjust it to the town instead. You all know this village better than anyone. You’ll know how to defend it. They will pay for what they have done here. I swear it. I will make them pay.”

It was hardly the speech of the century. He’s heard his father deliver far finer speeches, his words soothing even the angriest of men, inspiring the most downtrodden. It was during those moments that Merlin had respected his father most, seeing the hardened warrior he was, the battle-weary king, inspiring the masses with simple words and strength alone. He wasn’t like his father, though. Not in any regard, but especially not this one. 

But his words had the intended affect. The men around him, Elyan included, drew themselves up and nodded grimly. Merlin watched as Lancelot and Percival led the men back to the farm, running as quick as they had to get here. He hoped they’d be quick enough. 

Gwaine and Arthur lingered, twin looks of concern on their faces, but he just shook his head sharply. 

“You have to go. Both of you. They’ll listen to you if you tell them to leave. Bring them to another town if you must. Or into the fields. Return before sundown, though. I need you both here if we want to have any chance of surviving the night.”

“I won’t leave you here alone,” Arthur claimed, eyes hard. Gwaine nodded, for once in perfect agreement with his former friend. Merlin just smiled sadly, shaking his head. 

“I’d only slow you down. Please. This was my fault. I messed up. Let me fix this. Let me make it so no one else has to be hurt. Please, Arthur. Gwaine. I beg you. I’ll be okay. I swear.”

He could see the resistance. Could see their concern and fear for him. But, thankfully, they both nodded. And then they were gone, leaving the house to do what was needed of them. To save their village. 

Leaving him alone with the dead body of his gravest mistake. 

Swallowing thickly, he walked over to the dead boy, his mouth open and eyes glazed as he slept eternally. Merlin felt his blood run cold at the sight, but he had to do this. Had to lay the boy’s spirit to rest, in the ways of his forefathers. 

As the words came from his lips, the words having never been taught but were born within him, he felt his eyes flash gold as the world ceased to move around him. He recited the prayer, the spell, as well as he could, his words never faltering. And, as he finished the prayer, the world moving around him once again, the sounds of panicked villagers meeting his ears, he liked to think he saw a grateful smile on the young boy’s still, cold face. 

Final rites done, Merlin headed up to the room he technically didn’t stay in but kept his stuff in to keep up appearances. He had a lot of work to do. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

It wasn’t enough. He knew it wasn’t enough. He looked around, eyes tight with worry and fear as he breathed out heavily at the sight he saw. 

The town was empty of all inhabitants. Arthur and Gwaine had teamed up and had inspired the villagers to follow their words, to take only what they could carry as they evacuated the area. They were truly a force to be reckoned with when they worked towards a common goal. Merlin couldn’t see any of Arthur’s friends, but that was a good thing. It meant they were safely hidden, their hiding spots not obvious. He, himself, stood boldly in the middle of the village, eyes hard and hands folded, like he was merely waiting for a visitor to enjoy a spot of tea. 

Merlin spared a thought to the last conversation he had shared with Gwaine, hoping to the gods that it wasn’t actually his _last_ conversation with the man. 

It had been when Arthur and Gwaine had returned to inform him that the villagers were safely away, Merlin overseeing the men who were planting the hidden bombs as far from any house as they could, but knowing that some damage might occur. 

He’d looked at the two boys, both of whom held a special place in his heart, and he couldn’t help but smile at them as they grew closer, Gwaine clearly wanting to reach out but knowing that Merlin was hesitant to do so around Arthur. Thankfully, Arthur realized that and, swallowing an obvious lump in his throat, had nodded respectfully as he wandered off to join the other men, to help them set up. Merlin loved him, for that. 

“So. This is it. Our final showdown. It’s all a little exciting, eh?” Gwaine had grinned, trying his best to lighten the mood. And it had worked. A little. It had caused a tight smile on Merlin’s face, at least, which had made Gwaine look satisfied. 

Merlin had then shoved the charm in his hands into Gwaine’s hand, eyes full of worry. Gwaine had just raised an eyebrow, holding the necklace out in bafflement. 

“Ah, hadn’t realized we were at the ‘exchanging jewelry’ phase of our relationship, my darling. You should have warned me. Now I feel the fool having gotten you nothing.”

Merlin had actually laughed at that, the lightly sardonic words making his heart ache. 

“No, you arse. It’s a protection charm. I gave one to Arthur, once, months ago and it’s kept him safe so far. This one is a little more powerful. It should protect you from minor to moderate magical spells. I’ve been working on it for the last few days, so I’m hoping it will keep you safe during the battle. And even after the battle, _when_ we win, I want you to keep it. It will protect you where I cannot, while you travel. Please, Gwaine.”

He had turned pleading eyes on the man, Gwaine looking impossibly soft at him, smile so very sweet. And then, apropos of nothing, not caring that his friends were all around them, Gwaine kissed Merlin passionately, causing a series of wolf whistles to sound as the men took a moment from their too serious work to tease their friend. And as Gwaine only raised his middle finger, lips still pressed firmly to Merlin’s, he could hear Arthur barking at the other men to hurry up and quit lollygagging around. Merlin had tried to find it in him to care, but he hadn’t been able to, worry too thick in his young mind. He had just wanted a moment of distraction. Just a moment. 

“Well, my love. I fear it’s not my style, but how can I deny such a sweetly given gift? I will wear it always. Cherish it, always. I vow that to you, Merlin Emrys. I vow.”

And then Gwaine had sauntered off, draping the medallion over his neck as he went, shuddering as the power filled him but not stopping in his determined steps to his position. 

And now he was here. Standing in the middle of the street awaiting a band of renegade sorcerers. 

Arthur by his side. 

He had tried to deny the man, tried to insist he’d be fine alone. But Arthur had just glared at him and said, in such simple words, that “I promised you wouldn’t ever be alone again. And I stand by it now. Don’t make me punch you.” 

And really, how could he counter that?

So. The sun began to set as dread began to fill in. Morgana and Freya had gone to the sorcerers to act as watch out, Merlin beyond afraid for them, but trusting the girls would watch out for each other. Gwen was currently with the other men, having refused Elyan and Arthur’s request to join the rest of the village, demanding she be allowed to help. So she was lying in wait for her cue, like all the other men. 

Now all that remained was waiting. 

Merlin almost thought that they had all been wrong. That the renegades weren’t going to show. 

But then, as the sun finally set, a false dawn filled the night as a flash of light burst into the air. Merlin felt his magic sing as he deflected the light from harming one of his friends. His friends, he thought, heart clenching as the magical assault began. 

Merlin had expected this. Had been prepared for the barrage. He just hoped he was strong enough to hold out against it. 

Long minutes passed as the sorcerers sent attack after attack, trying to penetrate Merlin’s wall of defense. But as the minutes passed, the renegades began to realize that they would get nowhere if they kept their distance. And so, they entered the town, sneers on their faces as they rushed Merlin and Arthur. 

Right into their trap, Merlin thought with a grin, hearing his friends cry as one as they popped out from their hiding spots and threw the bombs as hard as they could. 

The death that occurred then… oh, it made Merlin’s heart clench, stomach gagging as he watched the skin melt off one man as he screamed desperately, watching another man turn inside out as two magic bombs hit him and interacted far more violently than Merlin had anticipated. He could feel vile rising in his throat but pushed it down. There were bigger things to worry about, now. 

Such as the leader of the renegades, looking angry as sin as he stormed into town, his magic batting away the bombs like they were nothing. Merlin made sure to use some of his magic to protect his friends, relieved as he did so. However, his moment of distraction allowed the enemy sorcerer the ability to hit him with a spell before he could block it. Luckily, it was one that was easy for him to counter before it took hold, and he hurtled a spell back as soon as he could. 

He heard Arthur yelling, but Merlin took a moment to push the man back, using as much energy as he dared, knowing he’d need a bit more to counter the medallion. It worked, allowing Merlin the luxury of fighting unimpeded. 

The battle lasted what felt like hours. It likely was only ten minutes, but it was exhausting. He vaguely recalled seeing the others throwing their magic bombs, Freya and Morgana returned from their prior work to help out, but his entire focus was narrowed on the sorcerer before him. If he wavered, for even a second, then… 

Then that was going to be his doom. 

It was a mistake. A misstep. He had taken his eyes off the sorcerer for one second when he’d heard a scream, sounding too much like Arthur for him to ignore. He’d looked around, frantic, and hadn’t noticed the vivid red light that had been hurdling towards him, magic thick with evil, until it was too late. He stared at it with wide eyes, even as he put up as thick a block as he could. But he was getting tired. The other sorcerer was far greater than Merlin had given him credit for. And he could only watch as the spell hurdled right towards him. He could only spare a thought that the others survived this, even as his eyes closed in resignation. 

And then he’d felt a weight press against his side, a shout loud in his ears. And then he was falling. 

For a second, as he laid in the dirt, marveling that he was still alive, he had a thought that he now owed Arthur his life for a third time. He’d been about to look down at the man, expecting to see a golden head, when he was distracted by the decidedly long, brown hair he saw. Hair that was attached to a head that was not moving which was connected to a chest that was far too still. 

No. 

“No,” Merlin whispered, pushing his paramour into his back, heart dead and numb as he looked at the blank eyes that met his.

“No,” Merlin stressed, shaking the man, heart pounding when the usually vivacious man stayed still and silent and _dead, dead, he was dead, Merlin had killed him, oh God-_

“No!” He roared, magic flaring within him, swirling around him like the breeze as he felt it fill him, his heart bleeding with grief. 

It took nary a glance for the sorcerer he’d been fighting against to, quite literally, explode, Merlin’s eyes pure gold as his magic flowed through him. He could sense the other sorcerers’ fear, realizing that their leader was abruptly dead and that they should flee if they valued their lives. 

But Merlin didn’t care. Merlin’s heart had frozen completely, mind still stuck on the dead eyes of a man he had grown to love far too much, much more than he had ever intended, and he let his grief fill him. He screamed as the magic flowed through him, filling the village, glass shattering around him as the remaining sorcerers exploded as well, no blood even as he destroyed their every atom until it was nothing more than dust.

And still he felt rage, such bitter anger, heart bleeding as he grieved. 

“Merlin! Merlin, stop! You need to stop!” He heard a voice say distantly, but he couldn’t hear them over the roar of the wind, rain come out of nowhere as the night sky flooded the land with his tears. 

He hadn’t been able to protect him. What good were his powers if he couldn’t even save the people that he loved the most? What good was he if he could fail himself and others so utterly terribly? What good what he?! What good was he?! He screamed into the night, his sorrow raw and angry and bitter. 

“Merlin! Please! He’s not dead! Gwaine, he- he’s still alive! But I need you to help me save him! Please, Merlin! Listen to me!”

That got his attention. He snapped tear filled eyes to the boy that was brave enough to chance his emotional storm (literal, he realized with a shock, a tornado having been forming around him), looking at him with such heartache and pain in his brilliant blue eyes that Merlin couldn’t help but gasp, the storm dying down as he stumbled forward, eyes now snapping to the too still body that was lying in the square, Freya over it, the girl muttering soft words as her eyes filled with gold. 

He stumbled over to the body (no, not body, it was alive, _he was alive_ ) and felt for any sign of life. And there it was. A small flicker. Heart stopping with hope, he utilized the power he had stolen from the sorcerers he’d mercilessly killed and harnessed it into healing the man who had willingly given his life to save his, though he’d never ask for it. 

And as the man gasped, eyes shooting open as he took in his first breath, looking around in panic as he blinked in the rain that was still falling. As he laid there, looking so confused and lost and _alive_ , Merlin couldn’t help the way he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms so fiercely around the shoulders he knew all too intimately. Holding onto the man he had thought he had failed to save, like he had failed to save another, so close to him. 

Gwaine held back, clutching to him as tightly as Merlin clutched to him. He was a little weaker than he should be, though, which broke Merlin’s heart. But he was alive. Alive; warm and breathing and alive. Tears were still flowing down his face and the rain still poured his left over sorrow, but it was okay. 

“Shh. Shhh, my love. I am here. I am alright. Shh. It’s okay. There are no need for tears. We are both fine,” Gwaine whispered into his ear, voice much weaker than it should be. Merlin forced himself away at the words, hands on Gwaine’s face, before he kissed him tenderly. He didn’t care who saw. The whole world could feel his pain right then, so it didn’t really matter if they saw the pair kiss. 

Eventually the rain stopped. As it did, Merlin felt drained, eyes blinking heavily as the power slowly left him, making him shaky and weak. He had tried to stand, so that the group could get Gwaine inside, dried off, and taken care of, but as soon as he stood he swayed dangerously. Gwaine let out a sound of concern, but before he could fall face first onto the ground, a warm body was beside him, a steady arm wrapping around his waist as he was pulled to a broad chest. A familiar broad chest. Merlin couldn’t help his smile as he looked at Arthur, though it was strained and fractured. If the man didn’t know his proclivities by then, then he was the stupidest person alive and Merlin didn’t think he would even want to be in love with such a stupid man. It made him nervous, but all Arthur did was look at him tenderly, an exhausted smile on his face. 

“Come on, let’s go home. Gwaine is being taken to our room, so that we can look after him. I’m sure he’ll hate that; if there’s one thing he’s proud of in his life, it’s that bed of his. But I, for one, refuse to set foot in that… den of inequity,” Arthur stated, nose wrinkling at his last words. It made Merlin laugh, even as his stomach sank. Ah. So he wasn’t stupid. Well, that was good, at least. 

Arthur noticed his fallen expression, making him look confused for a second, before realization struck. He cleared his throat awkwardly, even as they watched as Gwaine complained while Lancelot and Percival carried him to Arthur’s house. A couple seconds passed before Arthur spoke. 

“I don’t mind,” Arthur claimed, making Merlin look at him in confusion. While he had an idea of what the man was speaking of, he wanted to hear the words exactly. No pretense. Arthur continued, grimace on his face. “You. And… and Gwaine. I was concerned for you, when I first realized you were, you know. Together. I’ve known Gwaine so long. I’ve seen him flit from partner to partner. I expected you to be the same. To just… be a passing fancy. And I know how you love, Merlin. Deeply. Fiercely. Loyally. Anyone in your heart is a… a very lucky person.”

Arthur paused, shifting as he swallowed thickly. Merlin just listened, pressed tight to the boy’s side. Feeling his damp heat, his now bronze colored hair pressed to his face as his eyes simmered. It made him look like the hero from a romance novel. Fitting, since Merlin’s life has turned into one. 

“I’ve never seen Gwaine so willing to give his life for someone. He’s always been so careless, but he didn’t risk his life lightly. But he saw the red-light head towards you, same as I. He was closer though. Thank God he was. I… I can’t say I understand. Well, maybe I do. But… I approve. If that’s even something that matters. I know I’m just a servant, and you’re a prince-“

“You’re not,” Merlin rasped, voice nearly gone from the rage he had just released. It was Arthur’s turn to look at him in confusion, beautiful face awash in uncertainty, pink lips pulled down in a frown. More like a pout. God, how Merlin wanted to kiss them. 

But he couldn’t. 

So, he didn’t. 

Instead, he continued, saying, “you’re not just a servant, Arthur. I don’t know if you realize this, but this isn’t the sort of thing I’d do for just anyone. I don’t risk my life easily, either, you know. You are a smart man, Arthur. More perceptive than you give yourself credit for. Figure it out on your own.”

With that, Merlin felt the last of his energy leave him, fainting dead away. Before he passed out entirely, he heard Arthur shouting, saying something. Then he felt himself get swept up into warm arms. _Like a girl_ , he thought humorlessly. 

And then he thought nothing more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh. So, the thing with Gwaine. When writing it, I loved it! I was like "oh, this is gold! The best! So romantic!!" And now, this is the first time I've read this chapter since I wrote it, back in April. And... Yeah. Not what I wanted it to be. Too over dramatic, and fast. But I've no idea how to fix it without rewriting the whole thing, and I'm too tired to do that right now. Maybe I'll do that eventually, but there were many points in this chapter where I had to take a step away or else I'd be cringing with how dramatic this is. I'm not a romantic person, so the whole "we're in love!" after knowing each other for maybe a few days thing is just... euch. I think this is what it's like to look back on a whirlwind romance... I wrote this whole story in a month, so all of these chapters were written in, like... a week? And now, with time and perspective, it's just... eh. But seeing as Merlin literally was dead set on leaving his destiny behind in canon, after knowing Freya for only a few days, I don't think it's OOC, at least.... 
> 
> Regardless! For anyone who is like "but what?? I thought this was a Merthur fic!!" It is! I promise!! I just wanted to have Arthur realize that Merlin isn't going to just... wait for him, you know? And if he wants Merlin, he has to put effort in. Which will happen! Eventually.... 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! It makes me happy to know people are enjoying this story, even if I'm still on the fence about it. That's why I post. I write for me, since I like it. I post because I want to share it with people who may find meaning from it. :-) 
> 
> Also, poor Ewan. :-( Someone had to die, like in canon, and he got the short end of the stick. <3


	16. In Our Bedroom After the War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: More internalized homophobia! 
> 
> _~~~We won or we think we did  
>  When you went away you were just a kid  
> And if you lost it all- and you lost it-  
> Well, at least the war is over~~~ ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!!
> 
> So, sorry for not posting on Wednesday. I've not been feeling well this week, kind of lethargic, and I didn't have the strength to edit this chapter. So I just delayed posting. I think I will skip posting on Sunday and just post next Wednesday. Maybe not. We'll see. 
> 
> This chapter has a lot in it, but it's because I wanted to end this story-line as soon as I could. Just so I could get onto my plot, which comes into play next chapter. What does this mean?? Well, up until now, this story has roughly followed the plot of Merlin, just role-reversed. Starting next chapter, I add my own plot into it. I borrow some elements from the show, but for the most part, it is my own creation. We'll see how well this turns out for us... 
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the song [In Our Bedroom After the War](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgizJUjcCxo&list=PLOV76J4b4cmiMIZrwhX1VmsnE89VeTnMu&index=5&t=0s), by Stars. I thought it was fitting. This is also the song that is sung in the chapter. Most of the lyrics don't fit with medieval world, but eh. Whatevs.
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been such a very long day and Arthur, for one, was beyond exhausted. But he couldn’t sleep just then. He had people to care for. 

His heart still ached from seeing the dead body of Ewan. He’d never been particularly close to the boy, as he was four years his junior and mostly tagged along because he was friends with Elyan and Gwen. They’d never been close, but Arthur remembered the child he had been, the eight year old boy who would run screaming through the fields as Arthur forced his friends to play Hunt, where one of their friends would ‘hunt’ the rest of them, hiding in the field. Like hide and seek, but not for babies, Arthur would say. 

To see him, their youngest, dead… it had hurt him deep inside. He had felt it his own fault. He should have protected him. Should have…

But they didn’t have time to pass blame or wonder “what if.” The letter claimed that the sorcerers would return to exact their revenge. It was a warning, probably to scare them. It did the opposite. 

It had been strangely nice, working with Gwaine again. The man had been quiet beside him, but they worked well together. Like old times. He even had a couple moments where they’d share grins after succeeding to get a particularly stubborn townsperson to agree to leave. 

After evacuation was over, the villagers moving to Magegrave, which was the closest village to theirs, they went straight back. It had taken an hour to walk there, and would have taken an hour to walk back, had they not borrowed a pair of horses. Everyone in the area knew of the enemy sorcerers, and as soon as the pair mentioned that they were planning on ridding the world of the scourge, they were met with profuse thanks and the promise to have anything they needed to help. The horses thankfully cut off at least a half hour of their travel time. 

It was strange to see the town so dead and empty, he had thought, riding carefully into town, not wanting to set off any bombs. He and Gwaine boarded the borrowed horses in the same stable Merlin’s horses were in, and then set off to help with preparation. 

It had hurt him; more than he’d ever care to admit. Hurt him to see Merlin and Gwaine kiss so tenderly and passionately, his heart clenched so fiercely to see the pair so clearly in love. 

He’d been the recipient of that love, once, he had thought. Both of their love. And he’d squandered both. At least now they were sharing their love with someone who was able to return it. Both of them deserved that, at least. 

He’d sent the other men back to work, heart painful as he watched the pair of men that he (didn’t, couldn’t) loved, love one another.

And then there was the battle. 

And then Gwaine fell. 

And then Merlin proved to the world how very powerful he was, terrifying and yet so utterly beautiful in his rage. 

But Gwaine… he wasn’t dead. Arthur had run to the man as soon as he saw him fall, heart stopped. Of all of them, Gwaine was the one he couldn’t stand the thought of dying most, save maybe Merlin or his family. Gwaine had just always been so full of life, even as his eyes would dull with pain sometimes. He felt so deeply, like Merlin, though he showed it differently. To think him, dead…

Arthur wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d cried, hearing Merlin’s rage, feeling the too still chest of his best friend. But then, Freya was there. And she looked wide eyed as she informed him that Gwaine was not, in fact, dead. Not yet. But they needed Merlin to save him, as her power would not be enough alone. The spell the sorcerer used was a powerful one, intending death, but there was protective magic in Gwaine that were counteracting the deadly effects. Freya could hold it off as long as she could, but only Merlin could stop it. 

The problem was, Arthur found, faced with a tornado and rainstorm in the middle of the previously cloudless sky, he had no idea how to get through to Merlin. The boy was almost glowing in his rage. He was so tragically beautiful, mourning the apparent loss of his love. Oh, how Arthur’s heart had hurt. Aching to see such sorrow directed towards another. He felt evil for feeling it, knowing Gwaine deserved such love, such care, but he couldn’t help it. It just…

But he could help Gwaine, he had thought mercilessly, angry with himself. So, he pushed the feeling away and tried to get Merlin to calm down enough to save the man he was so fiercely mourning. 

And now he was sitting in his little bedroom, two mattresses pulled in there to house the two men he (didn’t) loved. Gwaine was alive, Merlin was alive. They were all alive, if a bit worn. All but Ewan, he amended, heart aching. 

_But… but_ , the pragmatic battle analyst in him whispered just then, as he stared at the sleeping men (for they all were men, now. Battle made men of boys). _Only one death on their side was a good result, when all of the other side had fallen._

He pushed the thought away, sick with the heartless thought. One death was one too many. Arthur couldn’t even imagine having to tell Ewan’s mother, father, and little sister that their beloved son and brother would not be coming home. He’d have to, though. It was his responsibility, as their de facto leader. They hadn’t had time, when evacuating. And he had felt it too heartless to do it abruptly. Perhaps… perhaps he’d tell them that Ewan died heroically. That he’d died saving his friends, alight in battle. Not cold and alone, likely scared to death. It was the remembrance he deserved. 

Beside him, he heard shuffling, and he looked down, seeing the brown eyes of his once dearest friend. Ex-friend now, he supposed. He pushed down the disappointment that it wasn’t blue eyes that were staring at him. 

“So. Guess I’m a hero now, then. Like the sound of that,” Gwaine rasped, voice still weak with his near death and subsequent rest, but it was getting better. He let out a sound of protest as Gwaine sat up, wincing as he did so. There were no physical wounds but magic often didn’t leave a mark. Didn’t mean that wounds were not there, hidden under the surface. Merlin had taught him that.

“You’re an idiot. Nothing new there,” Arthur shot back, quietly as his eyes flitted to the boy who was still asleep, exhausted from his show of power earlier. Arthur had honestly been as terrified as he’d been impressed at the display. 

“Well excuse me, then, for saving your ladylove. Gentleman love, I should say. I can attest for the fact he is most definitely not a lady…” Gwaine mused, grunting when the pillow Arthur lobbed at his head hit its mark. “Hey! I’m a war hero now, you can’t do that to me. You are a cruel man, Arthur Pendragon. Very cruel.” 

Arthur couldn’t help how he chuckled at Gwaine’s overdramatic words, before sobering. He looked at his former friend with what he knew was sorrow in his eyes. Gwaine sobered too, standing with a grunt. 

“You do know you almost died, right? And that you should, I don’t know. Be resting?” Arthur asked drily but didn’t bother to do much more than complain. Gwaine was almost more stubborn than him, and he didn’t want to argue. Not now. Not after he’d nearly lost him. 

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in lying around all day? I’ve got better things to do,” Gwaine grinned rakishly, stalking slowly over towards Arthur. Arthur, despite himself, felt his heartbeat fast as the man drew determinedly near. 

“Funny,” Arthur heard himself say, throat dry, “I always thought you’d be lapping up the attention like the attention whore you are. You do realize this is the one time in your life you can boss people around and they’d do anything you said, right?” 

“Ah, that does sound very nice,” Gwaine mused, as he finally made his way over to Arthur. Arthur gasped when he felt a warm hand creep up and hold his face, a tender and fond look in his old friend’s eyes. “But I figured I would use my heroic injury as an excuse to finally do something I’ve longed to do for nine goddamn years. Now, remember Arthur. I’m an injured war hero now. I doubt the lovely ladies and gentlemen hearing my heroic tale years down the line would appreciate to hear that you’d gone and punched me.” 

Before Arthur could ask, a touch hysterically, why Gwaine thought Arthur would punch him, he abruptly found out, as too warm lips pressed firmly against his, a diligent hand weaving tightly through his hair. And then his brain ceased to work, so it took him a minute to process. 

It was… nice. He supposed. Warm. Pleasant. 

Utterly, earth shatteringly amazing. 

No big deal. 

As Arthur gasped, the sensation too much for him, he felt a warm tongue enter his mouth, exploring to its heart content. And Arthur just let it, too numb and terrified to do much other than just stand in shock. 

He was feeling so much inside. More than he’d ever thought possible. He’d kissed people before. Gwen, some random girls in the village. Morgana once, on a drunken dare that the pair refused to mention on pain of death. Never had it felt like this. His heart pounding, mind racing. Oh, how he longed to kiss back. To wrap his arms around his dearest friend and never let go. He understood the dazed look in Merlin’s eyes now, when he’d just backed away from kissing this man. Gwaine certainly was very good at his craft. 

Before he could even begin to hope to muster the courage or brain capacity to even think of kissing back, or pull away, or anything other than stand there like a limp fish, he was suddenly bereaved as Gwaine pulled back. Not far, though, as he felt a hot, slightly sweaty forehead lean against his, a warm chuckle teasing at his tingling lips.

“Oh, how long I dreamt of that. How long I entertained the idea of shutting up your rambling with a kiss. Of knowing what that beautiful mouth tasted like. My biggest regret, as the light hit me and I knew I was about to die, was that I never had. Not sober, at least. Now, when I eventually die, I won’t have that regret hanging over me.” 

Gwaine chuckled after that, wincing as something inside of him hurt. Arthur lifted his arms and supported the man as he gasped in pain, bringing the two impossibly closer. Gwaine sighed, shaking his head. 

“Now… now, my biggest regret is that he is going to have to suffer the same fate I did for so long. I know you, Arthur. Know your self-hatred and repressed feelings well. You are going to destroy him and I’m powerless to help. All I can do is beg you to listen to me. Beg you to hear me when I tell you that that boy, that brilliant man, is helplessly in love with you. He’d do anything for you. And to be loved by him… oh, Arthur. It is the greatest gift I have ever known. I would have gladly died for him. I still would, if I knew my death would save him pain. But only you can do that, now, my friend. Trust in yourself. In your feelings. In _him_. Stop letting your life be determined by the ghost of a man you’ve never met. This is your life, Arthur. Live it the way you should be. Not how you think your father would want you to.”

The words were soft. Pleading. Arthur almost wanted to give in. To listen. To agree. 

To let his heart finally, _finally_ decide. 

But…

“No,” he whispered, feeling Gwaine tense under his fingers. “No. H-he loves you. Merlin… is in love with you. And I am happy for him. For you both. He does not love me. And I-”

Arthur cut himself off, looking off to the side. Unbidden, his eyes landed on the still form of the man they were talking about. Oblivious that he was the center of their heated discussion. Arthur felt the words, the lie, want to stay in his chest. To never be said, to say the truth instead. But…

“-I don’t love him. I’m sorry, Gwaine. I really am. If I could-”

“Oh, you could Arthur. And you do. But you are too stubborn to give in. God, how I hate you sometimes,” Gwaine muttered, voice impossibly bitter. But he didn’t pull away. He just sighed again and leaned his forehead against Arthur’s. Again. 

“I pity you so much, Arthur. To have to deny yourself everything... and I assure you, Merlin is everything. You would never want with him at your side. Not just because he is a prince. His love… it is glorious. All encompassing. But you will never know. Never allow yourself to feel it. And for that, and that alone, I pity you.” 

With those words, delivered with the solemnity of the grave, Gwaine pulled back and stumbled over to Merlin’s side, fingers carding through dark brown hair when he made it, collapsing to the ground. Arthur could see he was still in pain, his chest hurting, but he said nothing as he turned about face and fled the tiny room that he’d grown up in. As he stormed down the stairs and into the street. He could hear his mother calling for him, Gwen too, but he couldn’t, he just… couldn’t. 

As he ran through the empty, damp streets, evidence of battle all around as the moonlight glistened on the rain-soaked world, he allowed the sob within him to bubble up and be released, tears falling soon after. He didn’t even feel the usual shame, too exhausted to care. 

It wasn’t fair, he thought as he ran, further and further and further. Trying to outrun it all. Why was he like this? Why did he feel so much, so deeply, for the wrong gender? Oh, he loved Gwen. Loved her with all his heart. Or he had, once. But he couldn’t deny, not at the moment- when his heart was so open and flayed- how his heart now also beat for Merlin. And Gwaine, he supposed, though the time for that had passed. 

It wasn’t fair. He was a good man. A righteous man. Why did he have to suffer these emotions that he’d never wanted, never asked for? He didn’t want to be this way. Didn’t want to love a man who loved another. Didn’t want to love a man at all, period. 

Merlin could never love him, now. Not after all he had done. All he had failed. How could anyone, after the mistakes Arthur had made? 

He was supposed to be a King one day. To rule these lands. How could he do that when he was so impossibly weak? So fragile and worn and wanting? How could he give himself to his cause if he was so broken and wrong inside? 

He ran. He ran and he ran and he _ran_. Passed the drowned farm where their failed plan was supposed to take place. Passed the fields of dying wheat, winter’s chill now firmly taking hold of the land. Passed the point of no return, his heart shattering as he ran and ran and ran. Hoping that he could outrun his destiny if he just ran far enough. Fast enough. 

Eventually, though, he collapsed. In the middle of a dead field of corn, heart pounding, tears streaming down his face. God. How pathetic. How weak. No one could love a man as weak as him. No one. 

He couldn’t deny his feelings. Not now. Not after Gwaine had kissed him and unlocked everything he had ever tried to hide from the world. From himself. 

He was in love with Merlin. So deeply, desperately in love. The way the boy moved. The way he smiled. The sound of his laugh. It all drove Arthur mad. Barmy. Utterly insane. To think, a week ago they’d been safe and sound inside the castle, his feelings as well hidden as everything else he hid. Now, here he was. Not a gallant knight, the brave hero who saved the day. Gwaine and Merlin took that honor. No...

No. He was the fool. The jester. The universe’s whipping boy: created to make the gods laugh at his plight. He wasn’t a king. Wasn’t anything. How could he be? How could he ever be worthy of such a title?

Of Merlin’s love?

He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t. 

But he would be. 

As he stared at the ink black sky, heart heaving as his lungs screamed at him, he made a vow with the world. He would become the king he had to be. Would, one day, be the kind of man that deserved the love he’d once been freely given. He would make the universe rue the day it had thought it could break him down. 

But he couldn’t do it as a lovestruck child, yearning for the touch of another. Couldn’t do it if he was moony eyed and in love. No. 

He’d have to bury his feelings. Once again. It pained him to do it, especially now that he had finally, finally acknowledged them. But he knew this was the only way. Arthur needed to be brave. Strong. A warrior. Not some child who was wide eyed and wandering. 

And maybe…

Maybe, one day. When he’d become the man that he had to be. When he was finally ready to be the king he would have to become. When he was finally, finally _ready_. Maybe then he could open his heart and examine his feelings.

Maybe then he and Merlin could be together the way his heart yearned for them to be. 

But that was not this day. That day would not come for years yet, he was sure of it. He was still so young, so wet behind the ears. So naive and unburdened, though he had gained several burdens this day. He had always thought himself mature, an adult, even at the tender age of twelve. He saw now how foolish he was, the dead eyes of his youngest friend sure to now haunt him forever. The powerful rage and grief of the man he now knew he loved chilling him to his core. He’d known nothing back then. And he had much still to learn. 

Merlin wouldn’t be mooning after him anymore. He was assured in that assumption. He had Gwaine now, Gwaine to focus his heart on. Even if the pair separated, Arthur knew that Merlin would never forget his first true love. His first taste at love. It would be with him always, like Gwen would be with him always. It would keep him warm, late at night, when the day was trying. Arthur, though it pained him, was glad. So very glad. At least he’d have someone close to his heart while Arthur found himself. 

Arthur knelt on the ground for long minutes more, heart aching as his breathing finally, mercifully returned to normal. He could feel the late autumn chill attack his body, the winter storms brewing in the distance. They’d have to head back to Camelot soon, if they wanted to beat the first of the storms. They’d been gone only one week, half of the two they’d buffeted, but it would be fine. They would be fine. 

And if he would miss his home with a fierce ache, his heart broken and tattered as he left, he’d just have to get over it. Kings didn’t feel sorrow for leaving home. They did what they needed to do for the best of their people. 

And this would be the best for his people. The king, while Merlin loved him, was not a good man. He was needlessly cruel even to his own son. Crueler to those without magic. Merlin would likely reverse the laws that his father put in place, but the king was a healthy man, only just passed his prime. He’d have years and years of his reign left, another twenty if he was lucky, maybe more. He couldn’t just wait around for the king to die. And he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , bring about the death himself. It would make Merlin hate him. It would make him hate himself, if he were honest. He also couldn’t be the cause of Merlin’s heartbreak. Not now. Not now that he _knew_.

So, he’d just have to man up and become the person destiny demanded he become. And he’d have to do it on his own, emotionally at least. A king relied on no one. Right? 

Mind made up, Arthur slowly rose to his feet, shivering with more than just cold. He wiped the tear tracks off his face and squared his shoulder. 

He wasn’t a king. Not yet. 

But he would be. 

He had to be. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Everything hurt. Oh, fuck did it hurt. 

This was why sorcerers should never use too much power, he thought dimly, eyes shut tight even as he woke from his dead faint. Magic was energy, wild and untamed. The body was a conduit for the energy, bending it to its will. That’s what Gaius had always told him, anyway. If one allowed too much energy- _magic_ \- to pass through them, then they’d wear their body thin, like a tree that was struck by lightning. It would destroy them from the inside out. 

Merlin was very lucky his body was so in tune with the universe. That he could contain so much of that raw energy without it killing him outright. It hurt, though. Like he’d been eating lightning, his insides burning and raw, mind aching and sore. He’d used up so much of his internal magic, so he had stolen the energy from the sorcerers he’d (mercilessly) killed. Murdered, he should say. They’d been running away. He knew that. Had seen that. He’d killed them anyway. 

This was his punishment, he supposed. He hadn’t even known it was possible to steal another person’s magical energy before. To take it and bend it to his own will. It was horrifying. Terrible. 

Powerful. 

Merlin couldn’t help how he shuddered, the minute movement causing him to moan as pain flared through him. Punishment, he thought, gasping. His retribution for taking more than he had earned. More than any other person had the right to take. 

Before he could think more, eyes shut tight against the world, he heard a familiar voice shush him, suddenly aware of gentle fingers running through his hair. 

“Don’t worry, love. It’s alright. You need to rest, you had a lot taken out of you today, just take it easy. Relax,” the voice crooned, soothing Merlin’s racing thoughts. Part of him realized he knew the voice, but the pain made it hard to think. The meaning of the words drifted from his mind like smoke, but he tried to hold onto the voice. He tried to form words, tried to reply, but it was too much. It hurt too much. He needed…

“M-my.... my...” he tried, the words heavy on his tongue. The voice shushed him again, hands gentle in his hair. He tried again. “Bag. Blue… potion. Need…”

He honestly didn’t know what he was saying. He had a vague idea of what he needed but was otherwise completely lost in the pain. Even thinking was becoming painful. There was a potion in his bag, he knew. Gaius has given it to him before he left, eyebrow raised, saying to use it if he got hurt. He knew the potion. It was Gaius’s standard pain potion. It numbed the mind and body while injuries healed. He didn’t know how to express his desire for the potion when his head felt like it was about to split open and let his brains spill out onto the floor if he moved more than a centimeter, though. 

The fingers left his hair at that, though, and Merlin mourned their loss fiercely. He hadn’t even realized how good they had felt on his agonized head. He just knew that their loss was a horrible one that he’d curse ‘til the day he died. 

“Merlin. I found a couple potions. You wanted the blue one, yes? I’m assuming it’s this dark blue one, with chunky bits? It honestly looks revolting, but if you want it…”

Ah. The potion. 

He tried to form a reply, but he found that he couldn’t focus on the words, their meaning slipping through his memory like a sieve. He vaguely thought he remembered words, but they were so hard to hold onto… something about a potion...

“Blue… potion. Drink… please. I… need…” oh, how talking hurt. Everything hurt. He needed something to make it stop hurting, but what? He didn’t remember. He could feel himself slipping away, his mind wanting the blackness of oblivion, even as he struggled to stay awake. Something told him that if he slept now, there was a good chance he’d never wake up again. He’d heard of too many sorcerers die of overexertion- had even seen a couple right before they died, so wax and wane and _still_ \- to not be worried, even as his mind flooded with pain, making that worry hard to hold onto. He had said something. What had he said? Did he ask for something? He didn’t know. He was so confused. 

After what felt like eons but could only have been a handful of seconds, he felt a warm hand touch his cheek, making him keen. From pain or pleasure he didn’t know, the pressure both soothing and excruciating at the same time. He let out a noise of pain when the hand moved to his neck and pulled his head up. He could tell the hand was trying to be gentle, but it felt like he was being electrocuted over and over as pain rushed his system. He distantly heard himself scream, more noises echoing around the room that he couldn’t focus on a moment later. The pain was too great.

He distantly heard the sound of people talking, frantic, but he couldn’t focus on the words. He could feel himself slipping away. His eyes were rolling back in the sockets, eyes still closed to the harsh world. Before he could pass out, he felt glass press against his lips, and then a foul liquid was slipped down his throat. He thrashed as the liquid hit his tongue, the bitter and horrid taste making him want to gag and spew all over the room, but the warm hand had moved to cover his mouth, forcing the liquid to remain in. The voice from earlier was saying something, tone frantic but also gentle, soothing. A new voice was there, higher, sounding pleading. 

He didn’t understand. He thrashed and thrashed against the hand holding him down, distantly noticing that an arm was wrapped around his chest and something warm was pressed against his back; he was no longer lying down, he supposed. He didn’t know when that had happened, too focused on the pain and the foul liquid. 

He still hadn’t swallowed. He was afraid to. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t… he couldn’t... then he remembered. Barely. The blue potion. It... it would help... 

Hesitantly, he swallowed the liquid in his mouth, coughing violently as it slid down his throat into his belly, where he could feel it working its magic. For it was magic, he realized, body gasping by accident as the pain slowly faded, leaving cool relief in its place. His mind was still jumbled, so he was still feeling very confused. 

After a few moments he realized he was still leaning against the warm thing. After a quick inventory of his memories, he realized it was a chest. It was rumbling, which was odd, until he realized there were words in his ear. Then his brain caught up and realized someone was speaking to him. He listened. 

“-Christ, Merlin, I swear you will be the death of me. You sorcerers are more trouble than you are worth, I will tell you that. Making me feel like a monster for trying to help you. Ha! How poetic-”

The words kept going, the person ranting about something, something about sorcerers being hard to handle. It was oddly… soothing… 

Wait… he knew the voice… 

Smiling slowly, eyes squinting open against the harsh light (it wasn’t that bright, only a small candle at the end of a near pitch black room, but it felt like agony on his still sore head), trying to see the man he knew was behind him. 

“Gwaine,” he breathed, cutting off the tirade about how Gwaine was forever suffering for gorgeous, foolhardy men. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine muttered back, warm lips pressing to his pulse point. He gasped at the feeling, pressing back against the warm chest he was leaning against. 

“You’re alive,” Merlin whispered, suddenly remembering what had caused him to lose control and unleash so much raw power. It was a grief unlike any he had ever known. Even when Will had died he hadn’t been so distraught, though he had grieved the boy fiercely and deeply. Losing Gwaine, though… it had felt worse. Especially after having failed Ewan. It had been unthinkable, at the time. To lose the first person he had truly loved, who loved him in return? He couldn’t... he just couldn’t. 

And, speaking of…

“I love you. You know that, right?” Merlin murmured, exhaustion filling him. He wanted to sleep for days, but at the same time never sleep ever again. He knew, now that their quest was over, that they’d have to go home soon. He’d have to leave this village. Leave _Gwaine_. It was unthinkable. So, he didn’t think about it, only thought about the way warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him fully upright and into a pleasantly comfortable lap, warm chest rumbling behind him as Gwaine hummed. It was like heaven. 

“I know, dear heart,” Gwaine muttered back, lips still on his pulse. For a second, Merlin thought he had finished speaking and had a moment to feel disappointment. What he had expected Gwaine to say, he didn’t know. After all, he knew Gwaine loved him, at least a little. The man had said so. But did it extend passed the bedroom?

_Yes_ , a voice in him whispered instantly, _he gave his life for you. That means more than words ever could._

Before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, he felt more than heard Gwaine speak again. 

“I love you, too. Never thought I’d mean that with all my heart, but here we are.”

The words were soft, almost too quiet for Merlin to hear. But it was dead silent in the room, allowing Merlin to barely make out the near inaudible words. And he felt his heart at once swell, and shatter. After all. In a matter of days, he’d be leaving. And who knew when he’d see Gwaine next. 

Before he could speak, ruin the moment by begging Gwaine to return to Camelot with him, or to let Merlin tag along on his wandering, he heard a shuffling sound over by the doorway. And he realized, with a jolt, that they weren’t alone. 

Eyes wide on the shadowy figure, he squinted as he tried to make out features. It almost looked like...

“Freya?” He questioned, realizing he was right a second later when the girl stepped into the dim candlelight, an almost guilty look on her face. 

“Hello, Merlin. I didn’t mean to intrude or eavesdrop. I had just heard you shout earlier and was concerned. I didn’t know when a good time would be to leave, though. I didn’t want to interrupt your reunion,” the girl rushed, looking awkward as she looked anywhere but the pair. Merlin felt awkwardness rise in him as he remembered his folly the first night, he and Gwaine had been together, sure the memory was fresh in her mind, too. 

“It’s alright. No worries. What are you doing here? What time is it?” 

As he said it, he realized it must be later than he had initially thought. Freya usually stayed transformed for several hours following midnight, the curse usually ending a couple hours before dawn. Maybe around four or five, then? Maybe later.

“Late,” was all she said, confirming his thoughts. 

“Then we should all get some sleep. I’ll be fine. Gaius’s potion is taking the worst of the pain away, and my body should heal naturally before it wears off. I have another one if the healing does not complete by the time it does, though. Gaius is nothing if not prepared,” he joked, though the words were true. Gaius was probably the biggest worrier. It would be funnier if the older man didn’t have good reason to worry about Merlin and his foolhardy ways. 

Gwaine hummed behind him again, the feeling so delicious and rich. Merlin would have moaned had his sister not been in the room. 

“You lot should sleep. I’ll keep watch. I’ve slept enough for today.”

Merlin made a noise of protest at that but stilled his tongue as Gwaine nuzzled his neck softly, lips not quite returning, but close enough that he could feel the man’s warm exhales. It was glorious. 

“Alright. Get some sleep, you two. I’ll see you in the morning,” he heard Freya say, before leaving. He did hear her say a muttered silencing charm, though, as she left, which made him laugh. Probably good, as his magic was empty at the moment and if he tried to call on it he’d just hurt himself. He doubted there would be any funny business that night, but it was nice to have the privacy a silencing spell provided. 

“I thought I had lost you,” Merlin murmured moments later, eyes dragging downward with sleep. Gwaine hummed again (which Merlin was quickly becoming addicted to, as it made his back rumble beautifully), lips finding his neck once again.

“But you didn’t. You saved me, my love. Those magic runes you drew into my skin, combined with the magic from your charm, prevented the curse from fully taking hold. That’s what the Lady Freya told me, at least. I’d have given my life willingly for you, though. I’d rather I die than you,” the man whispered, arms tightening minutely. 

“I wouldn’t,” he replied, shifting in the arms so he could face Gwaine, forehead pressing to his paramour’s. He would have said more, but the lips before his were too tempting. So, he just helplessly leaned forward and kissed the impossibly soft, pillowy lips. 

The pair remained that way for several long minutes, lazily kissing as the sun began to poke out behind the horizon line, proving how late (or early) it truly was. He usually woke at this hour, his magic waking him as the sun’s light shone behind his blinds. Yet, he was still so tired. Exhausting one’s magic reserves would do that to a person, he supposed. 

“What are we going to do now,” he questioned quietly moments later, when the pair took a break to breathe. He could feel that Gwaine was still in pain. The way he held himself. The unnatural weakness in his arms, though he still had some strength. The way he’d wince against Merlin’s lips every so often. He wished he could kiss the pain away. Maybe if he kept trying…

“We follow our initial plan, darling. I still want to travel. You must return home. Perhaps we should wait a day or two, to heal, but after that, well. I suppose we should head our separate ways. I won’t ever forget you, though. You will be with me always.”

Merlin’s eyes filled with tears at the soft, tender words, but he didn’t protest. While he longed to go with the man, he knew he couldn’t. And he couldn’t ask Gwaine to return home with him. His father would never approve, for one, likely killing Gwaine to rid Merlin of his affection once and for all. And Merlin didn’t want to hate his father. He really didn’t. 

It would be for the best. He had a life in Camelot. A home. Gwaine would get to wander like he always had wanted to. They’d be connected forever through their shared love, even as they grew to love others as well. Merlin had once, when he had been young and naive, thought that a person could only love one person their entire life, like his father loved his mother. He knew now how foolish he had been. The human heart could hold enough love for hundreds of lovers. Gwaine had taught him that. 

That didn’t mean they couldn’t stay in contact, though. 

“You must promise to write me, alright? I expect at least one letter a month, though I desire many more. If I don’t get a letter a month, I will hunt you down and find whatever ditch you’ve gotten yourself trapped in. And if you die, I swear I will march into the afterlife and curse you myself for being so foolish,” Merlin warned, tempering his harsh threat with a sweet, almost chaste kiss. He said almost, since Gwaine’s moan made him feel decidedly not chaste, the kiss deepening for only a second before the man pulled away with his beautiful chuckle. 

“I will write you a thousand letters a day, my dear. I promise.”

Merlin laughed at the hyperbole, but smiled nonetheless, filled with such tender fondness. 

It was then that he realized something was missing in the room. He wasn’t sure what clued him in, just a niggling feeling as his magic grew steadily stronger. He looked around, recognizing that it was Arthur’s room, even though he hadn’t spent as much time in it as he pretended that he did. Why did he feel something was missing? He didn’t know the room well enough to think that. Hmm... wait...

“Where’s Arthur?” Merlin questioned as he realized that the thing missing was his friend. The other man he loved. How had he forgotten him? He hated how Gwaine frowned at the words, eyes flashing with emotions that faded before Merlin could decipher them, a careless shrug and indifferent expression masking the emotions too quick. 

“He ran off about an hour or so ago. After I kissed him,” Gwaine tagged on, shrugging again as Merlin blenched, eyes wide in shock. He didn’t know if he should feel impressed or jealous. Of whom, he was unsure. Likely both. 

“You kissed him?! I’m surprised you’re not sporting a bruised eye,” Merlin commented, leaning closer to see if he’d maybe just missed the bruise. Gwaine laughed at his words and actions, batting him away, grinning rakishly. 

“You wound me! I’ll have you know that my kiss enthralled him so thoroughly and completely that he has decided to give up his internalized homophobic ways and has realized he longs for a hot, thick cock to destroy hi-”

“Gwaine! Stop!” Merlin gasped, laughing hard at the image Gwaine invoked. Oh, if only. Gwaine grinned a moment longer, before it faded slowly, leaving the man looking tired and world weary. He was only twenty-three. He shouldn’t look so utterly worn. 

“Ah, you got me. He barely moved as I kissed him, before bolting out the door like a newborn colt and not returning. I’d be worried if I weren’t so pissed. I suppose it was better than I expected. At least he didn’t punch me,” Gwaine mused, voice light but eyes sad. It hurt Merlin, so he did the only thing he could think of. Kiss Gwaine. 

“Hmm. I will admit that he certainly didn’t kiss as sweet as you, my lion cub. He holds no candle whatsoever to you,” Gwaine muttered against his lips, not pausing to let Merlin reply before kissing him deeply. He’d have protested if he could find it in him to care. 

Finally, as the sun began to bathe the world in bright light, Merlin felt his eyes droop too far for him to ignore. He yawned into Gwaine’s mouth for the third time, making the man chuckle as he pulled away. Gwaine gave him one last kiss after Merlin keened at the loss, but pulled back completely as he strode over to the thin mattresses on the ground, pushing them together to form one large pad on the ground. Merlin was helpless to obey when Gwaine held out a hand in invitation, lying back on the mattresses as he did so. 

It wasn’t as comfortable as Gwaine’s large bed, he decided, eyes closing unbidden, but it was heaven as far as he was concerned. Anywhere was as long as Gwaine’s arms were around him. He had a moment to snort at his sappy thoughts, Gwaine humming and kissing his head in response. 

“Sleep, my love. I’ll still be here when you wake. Sleep,” Gwaine muttered, before he started to sing. Strange. Merlin had never heard the man sing before. He had a raspy voice, clearly not used to singing, but it was angelic to Merlin’s ears. Better than the best choirs his father could hire. 

_“Listen, the birds sing,_

_Listen, the bells ring,_

_All the living are dead, and the dead are all living,_

_The war is over, and we are beginning._ ”

With the strangely haunting melody echoing in his ears, Merlin slept. And he dreamt of fire. 

He wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

It took Arthur an hour to walk back to his village. Running blindly in the dark had its disadvantages, he thought bitterly as he finally saw the small village as the sun stared down at him from the sky. He’d gotten turned around a few times, not knowing the area he’d run to well enough to automatically know where he was. He had eventually managed to make his way to a landmark he knew about but was dismayed to realize it was more than two miles from town. Fuck, he hadn’t realized he’d run so far. It was foolish, not the actions of a wise king, so he’d have to learn to control his emotions better. Ha. 

Luckily, he ran into no wild animals, magical or otherwise, on his trek back and was able to drag his drained body through the empty town back to his house. He smiled thinly at his mother, noticing distantly that she had moved Ewan’s body at some point. He didn’t ask where. His heart couldn’t take it. The villagers were still hunkered down in Magegrave, the men too exhausted to run and tell them the battle was over. He figured one of his friends would have the foresight to do so now that the day had arrived. Probably Gwen. Or Lancelot. Maybe Leon. He trusted them, regardless. Besides, he could barely think straight, body dragging towards the ground with his exhaustion, uncertain if he could make it the few steps to his room, let alone run off to Magegrave. It would have to do. 

As he entered his room though, brown eyes peering up at him from the mattresses on the ground, muscled arms wrapped tight around the man he now realized he desperately loved but could not afford to have, he froze. Shit. He’d forgotten they were still here. He was about to back away out of the room when Gwaine disentangled himself from Merlin, shushing the man when he let out a soft snuffle of discontent. Arthur’s heart clenched at the sweet display. Again, before he could flee, Gwaine gave him a hard look and gestured towards the mattress Merlin was lying on. Now thoroughly confused, Arthur just stared, tired brain not comprehending. 

Gwaine rolled his eyes and stalked over to Arthur, ignoring the frantic way Arthur backed up, eyes wide as his heart began to pound. Terrified the man meant to kiss him again (though he wasn’t sure he’d oppose the idea as much as he should have), he tried to back away. He didn’t get far when Gwaine caught up to him, smirk on his face. 

Instead of kissing him, though, the man just grabbed his shoulders and frog marched him across the room to where Merlin laid. They had apparently pushed the mattresses together, like he and his mother would do in the living room downstairs during the winter months, bitter cold entering through the thin windows. Mouth dry, Arthur shook his head, mouth opening to protest, but he couldn’t get a word out before Gwaine pushed him down, making him stumble to his knees. He heard his (former?) friend snicker meanly, before he spoke. Softly, to not wake the sleeping man not inches from his face. 

“Sleep, Arthur. I promise you won’t get cooties. You look exhausted and I bet you’ve not slept a wink tonight. Rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Arthur grumbled, but he couldn’t argue as his eyes drooped dangerously low. Part of him thought to grab a pillow and just lay on the ground, but the mattress looked so welcoming… (as did the warm, sleepy man lying on the mattress beside his, but that was beside the point.)

Sighing, Arthur did what he was told for once, not complaining other than a few grumbles, claiming that, “you’d think you hadn’t nearly died yesterday.” Gwaine just chuckled and sat beside him, facing the doorway. 

“I’m very resilient. Besides, I don’t need much sleep. I got enough rest earlier. You need it now. So, my friend. Go the fuck to sleep.”

Arthur couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped, his body facing the other man, back turned to the warm heat of Merlin. He longed to turn around and wrap his arms around the man like he’d seen Gwaine do, but he couldn’t. He refused to take such liberties from a sleeping man, who couldn’t even defend himself. It was ignoble. 

He was just starting to drift off when he felt deft fingers enter his hair, eyes shooting wide as he struggled to sit up, weary mind and body dragging him down before he could, though. He heard Gwaine tsk, likely shaking his head, if Arthur knew him well. Which, despite everything he had missed, he was sure he still did. They’d been best friends, once. As thick as thieves, his mother claimed. 

“You’ve denied me enough over the last near decade. Let me have this, will you?” 

Unable to counter that, Arthur settled down again, sleep coming fast as the deft fingers wove through his hair like a spider wove through a web. Or... maybe that was a bad simile. Oh well. He was dead tired. 

(And, while he’d never admit it, the fingers felt so very nice. Warm and sturdy, they made him feel calm and easy in a way he hadn’t in forever. Since a baby, maybe. Since before his father left and he’d become the unofficial Man of the House. Required by honor to defend others, to never let himself be taken care of. Yeah, his mother tried, but he had always known it was up to him to protect her, not the other way around. And Morgana, though the girl would have his balls if he ever said that to her. Point was, he felt safe. And loved. And wanted. It made him ache somewhere deep inside he hadn’t even known existed.) 

Luckily (or not), he fell asleep before he could analyze the feeling too much, barely hearing the tune the man above him hummed softly. 

God, he was tired. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

Waking up was challenging. Probably the most arduous task he’d ever faced in his young life. 

He was just so warm, he though languidly, mind blissfully blank. So warm, and comfortable, and happy. He never wanted to leave this cocoon of blankets and pillow he had created. He hugged the pillow tight to his chest, heart happy as the pillow snuffled in response. 

But… wait. That wasn’t a pillow. Pillows weren’t hard. Nor did they make little (adorable) sleepy noises. Eyes slamming open as he pushed himself back and scampered to his feet, he heard a masculine yelp from where, what he had thought was a pillow, laid. 

He could hear amused laughter from the corner of the room but could only stare in horror as Merlin ( _definitely not a pillow_ , he thought queasily) blinked up at him with sleepy eyes. 

“So. How was your rest, sleeping beauty,” he heard Gwaine’s amused voice call, causing Arthur to cease his horrified stare so he could glare daggers at his (possibly) ex friend. 

“You are a bastard Gwaine. An utter bastard. It is a wonder we were ever friends for so long.”

“Aye, but like marries like, and all. Takes one to know one,” Gwaine grinned, roguish and bright. And alive, he felt inclined to notice. Definitely alive. Regrettably. 

“Would you both kindly shut up? My head is pounding, and I want to die in peace, thanks,” a sleepy voice called meekly from the mattress Arthur had just vacated. Oops. 

Both men now sobered, they turned as one to the man on the mat, face scrunched (adorably) in pain. 

“Ah, shit. Dear heart, do you need more of that potion? I think I saw a second one in your bag, if you do,” Gwaine called, voice much softer and more tender. It made Arthur’s heart clench, both from the term of endearment and the softness of the usually rough and tumble man. He could only watch as Gwaine knelt beside Merlin, fingers that had lulled him to sleep now tangled in the younger man’s hair. At least, Arthur assumed Merlin was younger. He hadn’t yet reached 21, like Arthur had a couple months prior to his arrival at Camelot, so he figured it was a safe bet.

“Hmm. No, but thanks. It’s not good to take the potion too often if not needed. It can make you sick. I can handle it. I appreciate the offer, though,” Merlin croaked, peeking an eye open to smile gratefully at his lover, before closing his eyes with a soft moan of pain. Gwaine just shushed him, humming a tune lightly under his breath as he ran his fingers through Merlin’s hair. The same one he’d been humming to Arthur last night (actually, earlier that morning, he amended, looking out the window. He wasn’t the best at telling time via shadow position, but his uncle Tristan had taught him once, when he’d been little. He figured it was roughly three or four in the afternoon. Far later than he usually slept, that was for sure. He supposed they’d delay leaving for a little while longer, then.)

He noticed that there were people milling around outside, though, so clearly someone had fetched the townspeople. He hoped they returned the borrowed horses too. Or else he’d have to do it later, and he really disliked the ride to Magegrave. It was a fine town, but it was an annoying trek. He never envied his mother for her journey there and back each day, especially without a horse. At least now she wouldn’t have to walk so far. He’d just have to send more money home each week. He’d survive. 

Soft snores filled the air then, indicating that Merlin had gone back to sleep. Figuring it was safe to look, Arthur turned back to his possibly former and his current beloved best friends, respectively, heart clenching at the tender look Gwaine gave the sleeping man. It hurt him inside, but he was honestly glad for his old friend. Gwaine had gone through a lot in his young life. He deserved some happiness, however fleeting. 

“You’re so good with him,” he wondered softly, speaking without meaning. 

“Hmm,” Gwaine hummed, eyes not lifting from Merlin’s sleeping form. “I’ve had years of practice dealing with foolish men hell bent on getting themselves killed. I’ve picked up a thing or two along the way.”

Arthur snorted, remembering all the times he and Gwaine got into trouble over the many years. More than half of it was the brute’s own fault, so he had no right to complain. Arthur had spent as much time protecting Gwaine as Gwaine had spent protecting him. More so, honestly, after the man’s mother died and he grew insanely reckless and careless. Those had been hard months, on all of them. Even after the grief had waned a touch, he never quite lost that too reckless streak. 

“Says the man who once jumped from the roof of a building to escape a gambling game gone wrong,” was all he said, tone wry. Gwaine let out a bark of laughter, eyes darting to Merlin to make sure he hadn’t woken him. The man still dead to the world, Gwaine turned amused eyes on him. 

“Hey! There had been a ton of soft hay to break my fall, I’ll have you know. It’s better than the time you lost that bet with Morgana and attempted to steal that thug’s dagger, needing me to save your arse in the bar fight to end all bar fights. I nearly died, I’ll have you remember,” Gwaine sniffed, fake pout on his lips. Arthur grinned, daring not to hope that the light-hearted conversation meant anything. 

“Please, it was barely a scratch. You’ve gotten worse punching your hand through a glass window because you ‘wanted to feel the breeze,’ rather than opening it like a normal person.”

“Don’t insult me, old friend! Normal is a curse in my house and I’ll thank you to not say it again.”

“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Gwaine, but this is my house. And what’s wrong with normal? Normal’s just fine.”

“It’s boring! Horribly dull and lifeless. If there’s one thing I’d hate to be called, it’s ‘normal.’ Ugh. Even saying the word makes me break out in hives.”

Arthur couldn’t help the helpless laughter, though he tried to keep it down to not bother Merlin. He couldn’t help the way his eyes shined in the afternoon light, hope naked in his gaze. He hated Gwaine being angry at him. He always had. The other man softened at the look, sighing as he looked back at Merlin, hand still absentmindedly petting the man’s hair. 

“I’m still upset with you, you know. I’m still hurt and feel slightly betrayed. I had thought I knew you better than to say such things, Arthur Pendragon. But I can’t blame you, I suppose. You were only trying to protect this one. And now that I’ve gotten to know and love him, too, I can understand your plight. I’d likely have tried to save him from me, too, had I been in your shoes. I may not be able to forgive; not yet, at least. Maybe not ever. But I am willing to move on. If you wish for that, my dearest friend.” 

Gwaine looked up at that, eyes steady as the grave. It humbled him, in a way. He spent a couple moments staring into Gwaine’s eyes, just… searching. For what, he had no clue. 

But clearly, he found it, as he felt himself nod, a smile rising unbidden on his face. 

“You have no idea how much I would like that, Gwaine. I hate the thought of you hating me,” he admitted, only slightly ashamed of his girly words. Gwaine just barked a laugh, smiling his wolf’s grin. 

“Oh, my dear Arthur. I could never hate you. No one whose seen your pale, shiny arse, hanging out a window after you lost another ill-advised bet with Morgana, could hate such a pitiful creature. I’m still awaiting my invite to your wedding, after all. To think, my best friend, officially Mrs. Goatfucker. I’ll cry tears of joy as I throw rice for your goat husband to eat as you ride into the sunset, off to make horrifying goat slash human hybrids.” 

Arthur burst out laughing at that, remembering painfully his two most shameful moments. The bet hadn’t even been his fault. He was sure he’d have won that card game if Morgana hadn’t cheated with magic. She’d then dared him to sneak into mean old Mr. Harbor’s house, buck naked, to steal his prized whiskey. He’d only been fourteen, but full of damned bravado and refused to back down from a challenge. He’d almost made off scot free, when Mr. Harbor had awoken and started to yell at him. Startled, he’d climbed out the window, getting stuck as Mr. Harbor drew closer, yelling that he’d beat whoever’s white arse he was forced to stare at. Luckily, Gwaine had gotten over his hysterics in enough time to help him flee into the night, Mr. Harbor never knowing who had stolen his whiskey while buck naked, his eyes luckily not as good as they had been in Arthur’s childhood years. 

He did recall the flushed look Gwaine had given him after, eyes sweeping him up and down slowly. Arthur had, at the time, assumed he’d been checking for injuries. Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

And he wasn’t even going to mention the time with the goat. His ‘one true love,’ as Gwaine had lamented, time and time again. Ridiculous. It was one time after a ridiculous night of drinking when he’d been seventeen. He didn’t even remember it, which had caused Gwaine to sob in faux sorrow, heartbroken that he’d forgotten his love so soon. Bastard. He was half positive Morgana and Gwaine had made the story up. 

“You know, I’m so happy you two have made up. Honest, I am. But could you do it, I don’t know. Literally anywhere else? Some people are trying to sleep,” a sleepy voice interrupted before he could retort back at Gwaine, face flushing as he realized they had gotten a bit too loud. Oops. 

He only could watch as Merlin sat, stretching sore muscles with a wince, eyes dazed. With sleep or pain, he didn’t know. Gwaine winced, turning to face the man who was sitting sleepily next to him, hands reaching out to touch the sleep warm skin. Arthur had to turn away when Merlin smiled so sweetly back, heart clenched so tight he was sure he was about to die. 

Gwaine had been right about one thing, earlier that day. Merlin’s love certainly had been a gift. One he would never have again, most like. The thought hurt him more than he could say. 

He imagined he could hear the sounds of a wet kiss, which made his hands clench into tight fists. 

“I’m sorry, dear. Hadn’t meant to keep you awake. We can leave, if you’d like to sleep some more.” 

Merlin let out a noise of complaint. 

“No, I’m fine. I doubt I can sleep anymore anyway. My head hurts. And I’m hungry. Is there any food to eat?” 

His voice was so childish that Arthur had to suppress a laugh. It ended out more a snort, regardless, causing Merlin to pout at him as he turned back to face the pair. Who, thankfully, were a respectable distance apart, though their hands were clasped. 

“Aye. Lovely Lady Ygraine left you two narcoleptics some lunch from earlier. It’s meat stew. Possibly goat, which I apologize dearly for, Arthur. I know how much you miss your beloved, after all.”

“Hey Gwaine?” Arthur asked, waiting for the man to look at him with curious, mirth filled eyes, before showing the overly obscene gesture he’d learned from Morgana of all people. “Fuck you.”

Laughter rang out across the room at that, Gwaine’s husky laugh melding with Merlin’s bell-laugh. It was beautiful. Everything he had never known he’d wanted in life. Oh, what he wouldn’t give, to live in this moment forever. 

But, all moments must end. And so did that one. The trio stood and headed down the stairs to get the lunch his mother had left for them, chattering happily, Arthur guarding his stew warily as Gwaine tried to throw bits of rotten food into it, laugh loud every time he was thwarted, Merlin hitting him lightly upside the head. He always looked away when Merlin would kiss the pitiful look off the others face, though. Out of respect, he told himself. Definitely not the gnawing jealousy that filled him. 

Decidedly not. 

The next few days would be challenging ones, he knew. Leaving home would feel like the greatest hell he’d ever known, like it had the first time, but so much worse. At least then he’d had the assumption he’d be back in a couple weeks’ time. Now? Now he had no idea when he’d return. And even if he did, he knew Gwaine, steady reliable Gwaine (and wasn’t that a laugh?) would not be there. He’d be off traveling, the man’s face alive with anticipation and thrill. He felt bad, then, for being the reason the man had stayed so long. He hadn’t really realized that. He’d just known that he’d always missed the man when he’d gone wandering, his own grin wide and happy when he’d return. 

It would all be worth it in the end. He hoped. He prayed. Who knew where the road of time and destiny would lead him? His end stop was apparently being King, but who knew how many years or decades would pass before that day. Who knew what kind of challenges he’d face, what kind of hardships would plague him? Plague them all.

The one thing he knew, though, as he watched Merlin giggle helplessly at Gwaine’s action, enabling the man horribly, was that he’d do it, all of it, with Merlin by his side. Or with him by Merlin’s side, more like, since Merlin was the prince here. Their destinies were intertwined, woven by Fate herself. For better or for worse, he’d be by that beautiful man’s side forever more. It was comforting. Maybe they’d never love one another as he longed to. Or maybe they would, one day. In the far future. 

Who knew? 

The future was what he made it out to be. 

The end destination may have been decided, but the path he wove wasn’t. 

He liked the sound of that. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

“You ready, love,” the soft voice questioned him, making him force a smile on his too stiff lips. 

It had been two days since the end of the Battle of Fayford, as he called it. He was still weaker than he should be, his body aching at odd times, but he was finally well enough to travel. And they’d tarried too long. He could sense a storm brewing. They’d have to head out before they got caught up in it. 

Merlin was standing beside the horse that Freya was sitting on, chatting with her ladylove, who sat on the other horse. Morgana was apparently joining them; Freya had informed him of this in no uncertain terms. Well, whatever. He didn’t care. They’d have to explain her appearance at the castle, since he doubted his father would approve of the relationship. While he wasn’t Freya’s father, he was her guardian and king, and had the right to reject any relationship he didn’t approve of. Which was why they’d never tell him about it, of course. 

Beside him stood Gwaine, eyes bright as he held his pack on his back, smile wide as he looked at the open expanse of road before him. They’d had a party the night before, the remaining friends, laughing and singing as they said goodbye. And remembered their fallen friend, Ewan’s funeral pyre burning earlier that day while his mother and sister sobbed. Elyan had told them solemnly that he and Gwen would look after them. The pair had always been the closest to the boy, after all.

At some point, Merlin had been irrevocably accepted by Arthur’s friends, the rowdy boys welcoming him with cheers when he’d shown up the night before, still a little tired. He’d honestly been shocked. Doubly so when Elyan has shown up and gave him a respectful, if a bit tense, nod. Then they’d entered into a conversation about the merit of different kinds of wheat to be used in baking. Apparently Elyan was the town baker, taking over after his father died. Merlin knew the family had once been blacksmiths (the best in the land, Arthur had muttered to him, shrugging), but wisely didn’t bring it up, just listened, somewhat bewildered, as the young man ranted about wheat. 

Gwen later had laughed at him, saying he’d just earned Elyan’s respect by listening to his mindless rant without any complaint. Whatever, Merlin had thought, drinking the watered-down wine the men had given him. They were drinking harder stuff, but because he was still recovering, Freya had glared at them when they’d tried to give him some of their drink. He’d just rolled his eyes but didn’t complain. He didn’t fancy an aching head when his magic was still so weak, anyway. 

Now here he stood. Heart oddly full and sad as he stared at the small village he had come to adore. He’d miss Arthur’s friends, he realized. _His_ friends, now. He supposed. It was strange. He’d never had so many friends. 

And now he had more than a friend, he thought as he looked at Gwaine, who smiled sweetly at him, before kissing him chastely. Freya was right there, after all, so they couldn’t do much else. As it was, the girl began gagging, protesting. Merlin flushed, but just grinned cheekily. They wouldn’t be together physically, but they both promised to write often. He’d heard of long-distance relationships before. He was sure they could make it work. He’d have to be careful that the king never saw the letters, but he had earned loyalty from enough people he felt they’d be safe. 

“I suppose so,” he replied, realizing he hadn’t said anything in long moments. “I never expected that I’d feel so strangely… sad, leaving here. This last week sure has been a trip.” 

Gwaine chuckled again, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. He felt warm lips press against his cheek, making him smile sweetly. 

“I know what you mean. Never thought I’d see the day I actually left this village. I think I’ll almost miss it. It’s stifling, but hey. It’s home,” Gwaine remarked, smiling bitterly as he pulled away from the embrace to glance back at the town. There was something akin to sorrow in his brown eyes, but Merlin kindly didn’t mention it. Just kissed the warm, scratchy cheek, earning himself a wide grin. 

“You’ll be fine. I know you will. Don’t hesitate to write me if you need anything, alright? And I mean it. Anything at all,” he warned, pulling closer to the other. Gwaine grinned cheekily. 

“Oh? Anything at all? Even…” Merlin blushed fiercely as Gwaine whispered in his ear, words filthy but so delicious. God, he was going to miss this man. 

“Oh, yes. Definitely that,” he heard himself breathe, as Gwaine laughed. 

“Oi! You two going to just stand around gossiping all day, or are we planning on letting the storm hit us?” A voice called out through the still village, breaking the men apart. Gwaine still had a cheeky grin on his face as he turned to the newcomer, Arthur pulling his pack further up his shoulders. 

“Says the one who has been holding us up saying goodbye to his girlfriend. Is the princess ready to head out, or do you need more beauty rest?” Gwaine snarked, eyebrow raised. The man would not be traveling with them the entire way, but they would travel as far together as they could before Gwaine decided to head into a different direction. He had no idea where he was headed, he had said, but he knew he’d be there eventually. He had kindly allowed Merlin to place a mild tracking charm on the man so that he’d know roughly where Gwaine was if he scried for the man on a map. It wouldn’t tell him the exact location, but it would give him a place to send letters to. Plus, he thought privately, would assure him that the man was still alive. One could only scry an alive man, after all. 

Arthur just rolled his eyes and gave Gwaine an obscene hand gesture, making Gwaine gasp in mock offense, turning big brown eyes on Merlin. Oh, Lord. 

“My prince. Look at how your servant treats me. I demand his head,” the man sniffed, shaking his head sadly. Merlin just laughed, patting Gwaine’s cheek lightly. 

“Poor baby. I’m sorry the mean servant hurt you. How can I make it up to you?” He asked, grin sharp with suppressed laughter. Gwaine couldn’t reply before Freya threw a book at the pair, eyes annoyed and amused at the same time. 

“Stop. Or else the next thing I throw will be decidedly more deadly,” the girl warned. Figuring he’d better take her word for it, Merlin just nodded and took the reins of his beloved horse. He had decided he’d walk alongside the creature with Gwaine, Freya sitting on Buttercup since her legs were so much shorter than theirs were. Morgana was on Raindrop, the woman deciding to come back with them (which Merlin was privately happy about, for his sister’s sake), though Arthur seemed inclined to walk with the other men. Probably felt his pride demanded it, he thought fondly. 

Finally, as the clouds began rolling in lazily, the quintet and two horses set out, chatting and laughing as they made their way towards their future. 

And when Merlin finally arrived home, shivering from the bitter rain that they had failed to avoid, his father grinning and asking how the pilgrimage had gone, more invested than he’d ever been in his son’s life in years, he knew he’d miss the simple, lazy days he had spent in Fayford with Arthur and their friends. 

He had changed. He knew he had. He had faced battle. Had taken lives, not even just in self-defense. He was wiser now, he felt, though he still had much to learn. He wasn’t the boy he had been when he had left. He had no idea who he was now, but he was both excited and terrified to figure it out. 

“You seem different, Merlin,” Gaius informed him as he sat with the older man, court adjourned for the day. Merlin just smiled at his oldest friend, his second father. “Older. I see your pilgrimage has indeed helped you learn control.”

And it had. His magic was more settled, once it had replenished enough. Merlin shrugged, knowing the man had a double meaning in his words but unable to talk about it in public. He made a vow to talk to the man more often in private. He’d been so busy lately that he’d not had the chance to talk to his dearest friend. He had so much he wanted to talk about, his mind jumbled as he thought of what had happened, needing a parent-figure to help him sort it all out. And while he’d been getting along better with his father since his outburst, he doubted they’d ever get close enough to talk about the things he needed to talk about. 

“I suppose it has. I feel older. It was one hell of a pilgrimage,” was all Merlin said, shrugging. 

Who knew what the future held? Who knew where the road would twist and turn? Who knew what would happen next? 

He supposed he just had to wait and see. 

He didn’t know if he was excited or terrified at the thought. 

Maybe both. 

Yes. 

Definitely both. 

_**END ACT 1** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those upset about the Merlin/Gwaine thing, again, don't worry! Merthur is coming. This was just them getting to a solid foundation. Next chapter deals with a big time skip, so we get to see how things are after a while has passed. Part of me thinks I should turn the next part into it's own story, like a sequel to this one, but I don't think this story would work well on it's own, as it stands. So instead, we have Act 2. There are four acts in this story, by the by. I see each one as a season, in a way, though act 4 is really short, aha. 
> 
> Thanks for the reviews and comments, everyone!! :-D


	17. Purple Elixir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> So, this chapter has not been proof read. Why? Because I've been working on a complicated drawing project that's been taking up a lot of my time/focus. I'm just super tired and reading this through is not what I consider fun. If you notice any egregious typos, feel free to let me know. 
> 
> Basically, all you need to know for this chapter is that it's kind of a filler chapter, bridging between the last plot line and the next one. Next chapter is the start of my original plot, and this chapter is just a bit of levity before it. Just letting you know, my original plot line gets... kind of heavy, aha. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Merlin woke up on his 22nd birthday, groaning as the pale winter light hit his eyes harshly. 

“Rise and shine, lazy bones! It’s your big day!” his cursed manservant called in fake cheer, grinning wide at the withering glare Merlin sent him. 

God. Why did he love this man? The world may never know. 

He had actually been right about to fall back asleep for once, his magic lulling him after it had awoken him far too early. But then that blasted servant of his ruined it with his stupidly chipper greeting. Merlin swore he did it specifically to fuck with him. 

Still, he marveled, watching the man flit around the room, laying out his ceremonial robes for the daylong celebration his father was throwing in his honor onto the plush armchair beside the window. To think it had already been a year and a half since they had first met. A year and a half since he’d run headfirst into the insolent, prattish man and had fallen head over heels in love. It would have been poetic, had circumstances been different. 

Things had been different, though, since their first journey to the boy’s home village. First, he noted, as there had been two others. One to deliver the grain he had managed to get for them before spring (Arthur looking so stupidly happy and proud to learn he had done it before they’d even begun to be friendly towards one another, Merlin finally spilling his deepest [ha!] secret). The other had been to attend Percival’s autumn wedding to the girl they’d been teasing him about nearly a year prior. It had been a joyous occasion. 

Made more joyous for his reunion with the man he loved almost as much as he loved his servant. Oh, how their night of reunion had gone... he was still warm just thinking about it. 

But he digressed. Things were different, now, following their first visit. They were, in a way… easier. Better. Arthur didn’t look as wane, as troubled. Oh, he had been, when they’d first returned. More so than ever, in fact. He’d been so closed off following their visit to his home that Merlin had been insanely concerned. Things had only evened out when he’d been crowned crown prince (say that three times fast...). There had been a duel, that night, against a supposedly immortal, possibly undead sorcerer his father had wronged years before. He had been supposed to fight the embittered man, the sorcerer challenging him to a duel, but his father had elected to take the challenge instead, after two of the sorcerers that Merlin trained had been slain in battle (to his horror, having trained the young men for years). 

His father had apparently taken a magic staff that Arthur later admitted he’d gotten for Merlin, a belated gift for his birthday, and had slain the sorcerer before he could harm his father and king. It must have been some staff, he had thought, though he had never seen it again after that night. Strange, but he didn’t question it. All he knew was that things had changed after that. They were better. Easier. Less strained. He liked it. A lot. 

He couldn’t help the grin on his face as he stood from bed, stretching with a theatric groan. Arthur rolled his eyes and threw something at him, hitting him hard on the chest. He glared at the man, holding the mystery item in his hands, not even looking at it as he glared. 

“Ow,” he stressed, rolling his eyes as Arthur swiped a grape from his breakfast, cheeky grin on his face. It had only taken seven months and a near death experience on a mountain, the pair having climbed it to find the final ingredient they had needed to cure a curse placed on his father, making the man wither faster than he should, before Arthur had finally agreed to eat his food. 

He wished the stubborn man had agreed out of friendship or even pity, but it had been worse than that. The man had simply been exhausted; their frantic trek across Camelot had been fraught with peril and heartache, Merlin crying more than was likely healthy for a twenty-one year old crown prince, nearly dying as he was knocked from the mountain by an angry bear. Arthur had, thankfully, finished their quest while Merlin laid half dead in their tent, the servant singlehandedly ensuring the survival of both prince and king. It had been epic and monumental, and Merlin had never loved the other man more. And then he’d just… gone and eaten his food, sitting beside a bedridden Merlin, absentmindedly grabbing the pastry, and shoving it into his gullet. He hadn’t even realized his folly until he had noticed Merlin staring at him in horror. He’d then tried to spit the food out, but the deed was done. Merlin had won. Ha!

His victory had almost been bittersweet. Oh, the times Merlin had imagined the man giving in, crying softly as he begged Merlin to feed him a decadent morsel of food, please, my sire. Perhaps he’d had more fun imagining the situations in which Arthur gave in more than he should towards the servant who he was not supposed to feel anything other than hatred for. At least, according to his father. 

“Don’t be a girl, Merlin. It’s a present, not a magic bomb. Or an illegal dagger. Honestly, who gives people an illegal gift and expects them to not be offended? Honestly,” Arthur muttered, grabbing some more of Merlin’s food. Ever since giving in, Arthur had gone all the way. It was like a switch was flipped. Now Merlin had to practically beat him to get him to stop stealing his food. It was ridiculous. If he ate anymore, he’d be borderline fat! (Not really, he amended, eyes roving the lines of muscle his friend had built up over the year and a half. If he’d thought he’d been built before...) 

“Lord Aspen was always an odd one. I’m glad father pardoned him, though. He certainly makes life… interesting,” Merlin mused, thinking of the eccentric old wizard who had gifted him a golden dagger with ruby inlay on his last birthday, when he’d been officially crowned crown prince (even thinking that phrase was hard). The elderly man had looked so baffled when the king had arrested him, eyes hard and cold. Turned out the senile man had forgotten that weapons were outlawed, having given the dagger as was customary for any young prince coming of age in the Old Kingdom. Merlin never told his father, but he still had the dagger under his bed, beneath a layer of illusion. In his defense, it was a beautiful dagger. 

“Eccentric. Fucking weird. Same thing,” Arthur commented blithely, before looking at Merlin with exasperation. “Now open it! We don’t have much time until your ridiculous celebration starts, and then we won’t have any time until morning, probably. Open it!”

Okay! Okay! Pushy. Geez, he grumbled mentally, rolling his eyes. Still, he felt strangely excited as he looked down at the small box, plain but oddly beautiful. It was mahogany, far richer than Merlin would think the servant could ever afford. Giving the man an odd look, he opened the box and gasped. He didn’t know if he should be offended or not. 

He settled on _not_ , tentatively, as he took the gold and ruby pendant out of the velvet recess it had been sitting in. 

_Oh_ , he thought, turning it this way and that. It was beautiful. Now, Merlin wasn’t a jewelry person (despite Arthur’s teasing, he wasn’t _actually_ a girl. Though he still maintained that it wouldn’t be a bad thing if he were! He knew plenty of badass women, like his and Arthur’s respective sisters, who were a force to be reckoned with in the castle these days, their relationship going strong), but the pendant was utterly stunning. It was an inch long golden pendent, in the shape of a dragon. Over the dragon’s heart, however, was an intricate ruby, shaped like a fake heart that children would draw on paper. It would have been gaudy, had it not been so utterly beautiful. And so perfect, he thought, looking up at the now bashful man who was looking decidedly at the fire that was raging in the cold winter day and needed no assistance. 

“It’s beautiful, Arthur. Thank you.”

He was tempted to make a comment about how he wasn’t a girl, thanks, but decided to leave it out. It was something Arthur would have done to alleviate the tension, like he’d done when Merlin had gifted him a horse (‘ _so that you can go and visit home easier. I won’t be able to come with, always, but I just figured, you know_ -‘) for his birthday earlier that year. It had been last minute, the man not mentioning his birthday, Merlin having to find out from _Freya_ of all people (Morgana having mentioned it casually to her, making her panic as she tried to find a gift. She’d bemoaned it to Merlin, asking why he hadn’t told her, only to be met with his bewildered stare. It had been three days before the event. He was still bitter.) but he liked to think it was well appreciated. He often saw Arthur in the stable, brushing the fine stallion Merlin had found in the forest and tamed a week before his friend’s birthday. Luckily, he’d kept it, or else he’d have been out of luck. It wasn’t even hard to explain to his father, saying he’d hated the stallion, the thing too wild (a half-truth) and had half hoped it would throw his servant off (a blatant lie). 

He watched as Arthur flushed, scowl on his face. But he didn’t say anything snide. Just looked over at him, discomfort evident on his too handsome face, uncertainty in his eyes. 

“Do you like it? I spent hours agonizing over what to get. I mean! I saw it and thought of you. Shit, fuck. I _mean_ , I saved up for months. God damn it,” the man muttered, his usually articulate ways failing him as he got steadily more flustered. Merlin wanted to laugh but knew it would just make his servant clam up and never reveal this surprisingly tender side of himself ever again. And that would be the greatest tragedy, he felt. He loved this side of Arthur. Sweet and thoughtful. 

But he would still be a bit of an arse. 

Smirking cheekily, though Arthur couldn’t see it with how he had determinedly turned away, Merlin spoke with carefully casual words. 

“Nah, I don’t like it,” he mentioned, watching as Arthur looked up at him in shock. Before the crestfallen look could even hint at showing itself, he smiled softly, grin wide as he draped the thing over his neck, holding it to his heart. “I adore it. I’ll never take it off. Thank you.”

Arthur flushed again, muttering how it wasn’t a problem. But Merlin saw how his servant would look over at him as he finally got over to his (greatly diminished, he thought sourly) breakfast, eating the remaining fruit with delight. It was hard to find fresh fruit in winter. Only on his birthday would he get such a treat, probably grown with complicated magic just for him. No wonder Arthur had been eating it greedily. Bastard. 

Still, mild annoyance aside, he liked how Arthur looked at him. Now that he knew the man’s secret (well, sort of. Gwaine still insisted, in the letters he addressed only to Merlin and not the ones addressed to them both, that Arthur clearly loved him, but he still wasn’t convinced) it was somehow easier to exist around him. They weren’t together or anything. They’d not even kissed. But they had a sort of… mutual understanding. They weren’t together. But they could be. Maybe. One day. If they so chose. 

Merlin was still technically in a relationship with Gwaine, though. Oh, Merlin knew the man wasn’t faithful to him. He didn’t ask him to be, had even written expressively that it was fine when the man had drunkenly apologized for a tryst in a letter, begging Merlin to forgive him, two months after their first goodbye. Merlin had honestly been impressed it had taken the man so long. He didn’t expect loyalty when they were so far apart and when he knew how deeply the other man loved. Merlin was fine, having gone nearly 21 years without sex and, though he had missed it desperately (though not as desperately as he missed the only man he had ever slept with), it wasn’t the be all and end all of his life. Not like it was to Gwaine. He was content with the letters that arrived at least twice a month, sometimes as early as once a week, depending on where the man had wandered to. 

Which was everywhere, apparently. He’d gone all around the continent (from bar to bar, Merlin thought with a smirk), finding his fortune in the wilds of Albion. He always stayed near enough to Camelot for his letters to arrive within a month, Merlin’s promise to hunt him down still valid, but he was clearly enjoying himself. Merlin was glad. 

Arthur would also write his friend letters, sending and receiving his when Merlin did, though he never showed Merlin what he wrote or what was written in his private letters. That was fine. Merlin never showed Arthur what he wrote, either. Though, he thought with a blush, that might be more due to the, ahem... _naughty_ content within some of them. That was another thing that helped with his celibacy. Gwaine was a wonder with words and could make him cum so hard with just written words on a paper alone. God, it was incredible. He had to hide those letters in a magically sealed box, hidden beneath layers of enchantment, only taken out in the dark of night, when he was most certainly alone. He had tried to reciprocate, but his words were nowhere near at steamy as Gwaine’s. Mmm. Just thinking of those letters...

He had to stop, or he’d make himself indecent. 

Fact was, they had settled into a nice routine. He was reluctant to think it, knowing how easily such a thing could shatter, but he couldn’t ignore how... well, _nice_ it was. Easy. Light. 

Oh, don’t get him wrong. There had been trying days. Watching his father slowly wither from a curse that had no easy cure had been impossibly challenging. As had so many other small challenges, like magical tourneys, and embittered sorcerers, and rising rebellions that made his father harsher to the non-magical people, breaking Merlin’s young heart. 

But Arthur had been there for him. Always. Through everything. Even as his eyes darkened when his father would sentence another person to death for simply wielding a blade, as he glared daggers at his father’s back when he’d flippantly discus the mass retribution for the rebellions. Even as his anger towards his father simmered, he stayed loyal to Merlin above it all. It pained him, knowing the man despised his father, but it was enough to know he cared for him regardless. People often confused him with his father, assuming that, of course he would believe everything his father did. Why wouldn’t he? He was the prince. But Arthur didn’t. He never really had, not even at first. It was refreshing. 

“Merlin? Merlin... Merlin! I’m so thrilled you loved my gift to the point of blessed silence, but you do still have to get dressed. Do I need to change you, or is the 22-year-old prince finally able to dress himself?” Arthur drawled, jolting Merlin out of his thoughts with a scowl. He stormed over and grabbed the robes, hating Arthur’s cursed (adorable) laugh. He had the last laugh, though, as he stripped his night shirt in one fell move, smirking at the way Arthur’s eyes widened, landing on Merlin’s chest. It had filled out, over the year. He was doing more physical strength training, not for any reason other than he thought it might be beneficial. And maybe, _just maybe_ , he wanted to see the heat in Arthur’s eyes when he’d remove his shirt, seeing toned muscle, not chicken arms, and too thin chest. 

Gwaine certainly had appreciated it, gasping with laughter as he was driven into by Merlin’s fairly impressive co-

Ahem. Naughty thoughts were banished until nighttime when he could appreciate them, thanks ever so. 

Anyway. He relished the look more when he removed his trousers as quick, revealing only his thin under things that didn’t really hide the boner he had been sporting since his earlier thoughts about his part-time lover. Oops. 

It only grew as Arthur apparently was transfixed on the bulge, eyes wide as his mouth fell open, seeming to not realize he was staring. God, did he feel truly powerful like this. Unwillingly making the other man lose control was such a power trip. Especially when he hadn’t really meant to. 

(Oh, who was he kidding. 

He always meant to.) 

It was times like this, he thought as Arthur shook himself visibly with a bright blush, that made him think Gwaine’s words were accurate. No straight man stared so intently at another man’s crotch. So, he obviously wasn’t as straight as he had once made it out to seem. It didn’t mean he loved Merlin, but if Gwaine was right about the first thing, well... maybe he was right about this, too. 

Still. It didn’t matter. Arthur never acted on it, and Merlin refused to. He still remembered his vow all those months ago. While his feelings had been laid bare and were obvious, he still wouldn’t take advantage of his servant. Oh, don’t get him wrong; he had no doubt that Arthur would punch him in the face if he tried anything he didn’t like, he was assured of that. But still, there was an odd expectation between servant and master that he couldn’t deny. And as long as they remained prince and manservant? He’d never make the first move. It had to be from Arthur, completely unprompted. 

But, he lamented, as Arthur turned away at last, face bright red as he stammered that he had some goblets to polish (really? That was his excuse? For shame, Arthur. For shame), that didn’t seem likely to happen. Oh well. He still had Gwaine’s letters to keep him company. And oh, how they did...

It didn’t take him long to change into his ceremonial gear. Ugh. He hated it. It was even more pretentious than his court robes. The only upside, he thought with a cruel smirk reminiscent of the first few days Arthur had served him, was that if Merlin had to suffer, so did his manservant. Speaking of...

“Hey, Arthur! Where is that hat that I gave you? Don’t tell me you lost it,” he chided, like talking to a naughty kitten who had clawed his favorite chair. Arthur looked at him far too innocently, eyes wide and childlike as he blinked at Merlin. He looked so much like the kitten he had mentally likened the man to that he had to stifle the laughter, hiding it (poorly, he was sure), with a disappointed glare. 

“Oh, well, I’m sure it must be here somewhere! It sure would be a shame if it got lost, Master. I’ll just head to my rooms, see if it’s hidden there? I- Merlin. What are you doing? Merlin, I swear- Merlin!” Arthur yelped, retreating hastily as Merlin approached the man steadily. The bastard. He only called Merlin ‘master’ in private when he was trying to rile him up. And oh, how it did. Likely not in the way the man intended, but still... 

“I’m oh so disappointed in you, Arthur. I had thought a well-behaved boy like yourself would take good care of the things I gave him. I’m very disappointed to know I was wrong,” Merlin crooned, not sure when he had gained the boldness to utter such words. A year ago, and he’d be a blushing mess, stammering before he could get even a single word out. Gwaine has rubbed off on him, he feared. In more ways than one. It was oddly satisfying, though, to see how Arthur gulped, eyes wide as they darted down to glance at Merlin’s lips briefly before staring into the distance, back squared as he stopped his retreat. Likely realizing it was cowardly to run from battle. Ha. Using his own deadly pride against him. Incredible. 

“I-I didn’t lose it. M-master,” Arthur stammered, uncharacteristically. It was amazing how unnerved he could make Arthur. To have such power over him. Those words damped his fun a little, reminding him of his position over Arthur. The position Arthur so casually threw back in his face. Fuck. “I’m sure I have it… somewhere.” 

Merlin longed to do what he had briefly thought of; of searching for the missing hat, looking long and hard. 

On Arthur’s person, of course. 

But no. He couldn’t. His teasing only ever went as far as to tease the man verbally. They rarely touched, these days, though they were closer than ever. He didn’t know if it was because of the words he had spoken a year ago, begging Arthur to stop touching him, or if it was… something else. Regardless, they rarely touched, let alone hugged. The last time they’d shared a true hug, the marvelous ones they had once shared almost daily, the kind where he held as tight as he could, and Arthur held tight back? Was likely when he and his father had almost died almost a year before. When he’d woken from his magically induced coma while Gaius healed his various wounds. Arthur had grabbed him and held as tight as he could, though he’d been mindful of his injuries. It still hadn’t been enough, Merlin sleepy and groggy and not at all able to appreciate the too warm arms around him. He hadn’t felt physically close to someone (male, that is, as Freya always hugged him) again until that autumn with Gwaine. It had been madness. 

Had made their reunion all that much sweeter though... and apparently Gwaine had been holding out for him, too, having been celibate for the entire month prior. He’d been strangely touched. 

So, instead of touching his servant, hands roving smooth planes of muscle, he backed away, pretending he didn’t see the mixed look of relief and disappointment on Arthur’s face. Instead, he just sniffed, like the haute Royal he pretended to be, and backed away to his table to style his hair. He’d had it cut recently, though, so it mostly fell in place. His ears still looked a touch too big, though it looked better with his slightly broader shoulders. 

“Well. Then I suggest you find it then. I’d hate to have to give you the backup hat,” he said off handed, looking at Arthur in his peripheral. He carefully walked over to where his surprise laid hidden, knowing full well the man had burned the fucking hat as soon as he took it off the last time that he’d made him wear it. Gaius had informed him, eyes full of mirth as he shook his head at the antics of his (practically adopted) pseudo son. The look of panic was almost the best birthday gift he had ever gotten. 

“W-what back up hat?” Arthur asked haltingly, like he didn’t want to know. 

He didn’t, Merlin thought meanly, brandishing the godawful hat to his, now horrified, manservant. The thing was too awful for words. Like a dead dove had taken residence on the most pompous hat imaginable, bright with blues and purples, his family colors. Oh, he’d had such fun describing the thing to the tailor, who had looked so solemn, like Merlin was actually doing him proud through his request. Awful. Merlin liked to think himself a good person. A kind soul. A loving master. 

But he adored the horrified look Arthur had as he shook his head, backing up with arms raised, pride be damned if it meant not having to adorn the hideous thing. 

“No,” Arthur enforced, eyes wide when he saw the evil grin Merlin sported. “Merlin, if you make me wear that thing, I’ll never forgive you.”

It was funny how often the man claimed that, yet he always did. 

Merlin adorned his sweetest smile, batting his lashes at his manservant. He didn’t fool the man for a second. 

“Oh, but Arthur. A servant must look professional during their master’s birthday celebrations. Besides, it won’t have to be worn as long as you have the old hat lying around. Because I’m sure you didn’t toss the thing into Gaius’s hearth, after the last feast, right? Because that would make me very disappointed,” Merlin crooned, trying to look innocent, but failing epically as his shit-eating grin rose on his cheeks. Arthur paled, then cursed a storm. 

“Gaius is dead to me,” the man intoned, before fleeing the rooms entirely. Merlin cackled delightfully, howling as he recalled the horrified look. Oh, that was good. 

He set the terrible hat down on his side table, humming the song Gwaine had used as a lullaby all those months ago. 

The hat would see the light of day. 

He’d make sure of it. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

“Nice hat, Arthur,” he heard Freya tell him sweetly, doing a much better job of hiding her mirth than his fucking sister, who took one look at him and began howling with laughter, her tears almost ruining her makeup. _Good_ , he thought bitterly, glaring at his cackling master, trying to hate him like he once had but finding all he felt was fondness. Even though the man had forced the hat on his head, whispering a spell to make it stick ‘til the end of the night. Four hours away. Oh, dear god. The morning and afternoon celebrations were bad enough, with fools and jesters trying (and failing, despite Merlin’s delight) to be funny. Not to mention the king’s solemn speeches. Now they had the ball. 

He had gotten used to his sister and Freya’s relationship, honestly. It was kind of sweet, if not utterly disgusting. Freya made the usually hard edges of Morgana smoother. Softer. It was frightening to see, but he was genuinely happy for the girl. He could still remember the bitter child she had been, recently orphaned, being informed by her true father’s widow that she had actually been her husband’s daughter. He’d asked his mother once why she had told Morgana then, and not later. His mother had shrugged and said that sometimes it was best to get all the bad news at once, to get it over with. And to starve off any resentment she may have towards the pair if she found out on her own later. It had hurt for the first year, but with Gwen’s help, Morgana had eventually softened. And now she was even softer, though still highly deadly. 

It was strange. But good. 

But he hated it when they all ganged up on him. Why was no one laughing at Merlin?! He was wearing a bloody dress! (‘ _ceremonial robe, Arthur_ ‘ Merlin had intoned the first time he’d seen the thing the previous year, howling with laughter before Merlin proved his evilness and showed him the hat he had later burned). And _fine_ , maybe Merlin looked bloody good in the robes, the loose fabric somehow enhancing his features, but honestly. It was ridiculous and he felt they were missing out on some good quality teasing material. 

But no. Morgana just smiled sweetly at the prince, kissing his cheek as he held out his arm, the girl officially his ‘guest’ for the evening. In order to allow her such free reign, knowing his father would likely not approve of the relationship between the two girls, he had invited her to be the very first female mage trained at Camelot. Apparently, it was like being a knight but magical. It was a high honor, which he had gotten her after long talks with his father. 

That had been a strange thing over the past year and few months since they’d returned from Fayford the first time. The king had been far kinder and closer to his son. Merlin never said it, probably didn’t even think it, but Arthur could see how happy it made the prince. He would be bursting with happiness and pride when his father would smile and nod at him for doing a good job. Arthur didn’t trust it for a second, sure the older man was up to something, but didn’t dare relay his worry to Merlin. It would just hurt the prince. He knew that his obvious contempt for the king (when the king couldn’t see, of course) hurt Merlin, but he couldn’t help it. The man was a monster. 

That’s why he was secretly glad he would be the one to overthrow the king. He’d long since comes to terms with his destiny and almost relished it. The longer he was around the king, the more he wanted it. Christ, but the man was a jackass. 

But…

But, Arthur sighed, watching with blank and distant eyes as the trio in front of him laughed, him unable to join in now that they were no longer in the safety of the girl’s (unofficially) shared room, Merlin loved his father. God knew why. The man had more faults than a seismic junction. 

But he supposed he understood. If he could meet the man, just once... Arthur was sure he’d forgive his own father anything. Anything. 

Which was why he had joined Merlin on his fool’s quest a year prior, he reminisced, the man endlessly distraught that his father was dying. Understandable, he supposed. When Gaius has spoken of a cure… he hadn’t even thought to consider asking other people to fetch it, people more equipped than two homo inclined young men who had never climbed a mountain before. 

It had been… trying. Seeing that bear nearly kill Merlin… it was almost comical, in retrospect. The man who stood up defiant and proud to griffins and undead immortal sorcerers alike, felled by a fucking bear. Not even a magical bear. A normal arsed bear. 

It had been heart stopping in the moment, especially as Merlin began rolling down that long incline, only stopping when his magic lashed out and saved him. He’d had to collect the final ingredient alone, trying to keep the delirious prince alive to do so. If the king had been anyone other than Merlin’s father, he’d have said to hell with it and left it at that. It wasn’t his problem. In fact, it would have made his life easier. But he knew how desperate Merlin had looked at the sound of a cure. How heartbroken the boy would be if he failed in his quest. 

So, he’d found the fucking weed, growing high on the top of the snowy mountain, and put Merlin on his horse ( _Buttercup_ , he’d named it, fucking Buttercup. _Mer_ lin was such a girl. His horse’s name was much better. Daedalus was a great name for a horse, thank you very much, _Mer_ lin) and had to miserably tread down the mountain through icy slush, as the last of January’s storms hit. But he’d gotten the fucking weed and Gaius had made the fucking potion to save the fucking king’s life. And then he’d put Merlin into a magical coma to help him heal, making Arthur beyond paranoid that Merlin would die, even as Gaius assured him that Merlin would be just fine, the coma was just a precaution. 

He had still hugged the man so fiercely when his too blue eyes had opened, blinking at him so prettily. 

He’d been doing well with not touching the prince before that. And he was doing well with not doing so after. It had been a moment of weakness. One he, (un)surprisingly didn’t regret. 

One would think, he mused as the girls (and Merlin, though he refused to take back his prior word) entered the ball room, that he’d be feeling freer now that he’d admitted to his feelings. 

Ha! What a load of garbage. All he felt was more conflicted than ever before. His eyes glazed over as the music and good cheer washed over him, Merlin and the girls getting lost in the bustling crowd. 

Things had changed a lot after the prince’s birthday the previous year, when he’d been terrified his other half would get murdered by a homicidal undead sorcerer that the king had murdered. He’d apparently been an old friend of the late Queen Hunith? He hadn’t been clear on the details. He’d just headed down to the Dragon, for once actually needing the blasted beast, and had asked for him to breathe on this neat looking staff Freya had given him as a gift to give Merlin. Luckily, he had decided to wait until the end of the day, or else he wouldn’t have been able to get the thing ‘blessed’ or whatever. 

And then he’d accidentally let the king use it instead of Merlin, against the explicit orders of the Dragon.

Oops. 

Now the staff was hidden under a mountain, near Fayford, where no one could ever find it. Easy come, easy go, he supposed. 

It had been a turning point in their relationship, though. He’d realized his (very manly!) self-distancing hadn’t actually been helping much. It had just made him yearn harder. So, he had done away with that bullshit and was much happier. 

Though he was now utterly and helplessly in love. And he couldn’t even deny it. 

It was just so all encompassing. It was everywhere, all the time. If he so much as thought of Merlin, his heart would race. He knew the man was in a quasi-relationship with Gwaine (which was going really well, the roguish man assured him in the numerous letters they exchanged), but it didn’t help quell the _hunger_ he felt. Ugh. It was disgusting. 

Not because Merlin was a man! Though that… that still bothered him. Late at night, churning thoughts imagining what his father would say if he could see him now. 

Having Gaius pull him aside and gently tell him that he would love him no matter who he loved, heavily implying he knew about his feelings for Merlin, had helped with that, though. A little. He wasn’t ashamed to admit (alright, maybe he was a little ashamed, but he was working on it) that he’d cried at the words. He figured Freya had put the old man up to it, but it had helped settle something in his soul to know not everyone would hate him for his orientation. He knew his mother wouldn’t, nor would his friends, though he hadn’t officially told them yet. He’d been home many times over the past year, in addition to the few times with Merlin, but he was just waiting for the right time. 

Fucking Morgana knew, but Freya and she shared everything, and somehow Freya had figured it out. Likely before he had. Perceptive harpy. 

“You know, I know the prince is rather lax with his servants, but I’d figured he’d rather them not just stand around with glassy eyes,” a voice called from beside him, startling him from his thoughts. Eyes wide, terrified he’d been caught slacking on the job (he took pride in being the Best Servant in Camelot, thanks ever so!) before they rolled as he saw the mirth-filled eyes of his honorary father. 

“Oh, ha, ha. You’re so hilarious. Scaring me half to death,” he muttered, folding his arms, his stupid hat fluttering a fucking feather in his face. This hat was going into the incinerator as soon as Merlin removed his spell. And he would remove it! Arthur knew his deepest secrets, the prince a nattering Nancy with his feelings. He had more than enough blackmail to get him to remove the hat. Of course, Merlin had almost as much blackmail against him, from his unfortunately numerous blunders around the castle, which he could tell Morgana at any point, but that was beside the point. He heard Gaius laugh, before the man handed him a drink of something dark and purple. It did not look natural, he thought skeptically, sniffing it. Eugh! 

“Augh, what is that?!” He yelped, coughing at the strong, oddly bittersweet scent. Gaius paused in his sip, looking questioningly into his own glass. 

“You know? I’m not quite sure. I find it better not to ask,” was the mild reply, before the man took another sip. Arthur shuddered and put the drink down on a plant pot near him. Gaius was a much braver man than him. 

“You should enjoy yourself, Arthur. It’s a night of celebration. The prince only turns 22 once, after all,” Gaius claimed lightly, smiling at his honorary son. Arthur just rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, eyes vigilant for any danger. 

“That’s what you said last year. And then an undead sorcerer showed up, hell bent on killing said prince. Sorry if I’m not willing to take my chances,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes on a suspicious looking shape. It looked like… two children piled on top of one another? With a robe around them to make them look like a single adult? Huh. Maybe that drink had altered his mind through scent alone. He wouldn’t put it passed these damn wizards. 

“You can’t keep bringing that up every time a celebration is held. Most celebrations turn out just fine,” Gaius claimed, pulling Arthur’s attention back on the man and off the strange children, not children. 

“The very first celebration I attended, which you had had a ‘good feeling about,’ mind, ended with Merlin almost dead and me in his servitude. So, sorry if I don’t trust your words.”

Gaius clucked (he was a chicken. He swore to god the older man was actually a chicken who was cursed to be a man. Like the opposite of Freya’s curse), shaking his head. 

“You’re too paranoid, my boy. And I had had a good feeling about that night. It brought the two of you together, didn’t it? And you can’t complain that you hate that boy anymore. I know your true feelings,” Gaius crowed, like the smug bastard he was. Arthur swore he would out Gaius the Actual Chicken if it were the last thing he did. He said nothing as he just glared at the crowd, eyes unwillingly finding Merlin through the crowd. 

It was hard not to. Now that he was crown prince, he wore his crown all the time (which he complained _nonstop_ about, saying it hurt his head, was itchy, was too heavy, etc. etc. Arthur swore that if he were prince he’d never have complained as much as Merlin complained. He turned it into an Olympic sport. Too bad the Olympics had ended serval hundred years before. Merlin would have won gold had he competed). The defining golden ivy crown was very easy to spot in a crowd, though. How it sparkled even in dim light. Arthur was positive it was magic. It also moved, like it was living, though it was seemingly solid gold. 

So most definitely magic. Unless gold just Did That sometimes. He wouldn’t know. He’d never owned anything gold. He’d saved up his money for months, now no longer having to pay for his own food (the one good thing about giving into Merlin by accident), and had bought that far too expensive necklace for his crush, which had been the only golden thing he’d ever even briefly owned. The ring of his father’s that he still wore around his neck was iron, he believed. Symbolizing a strong bond between two people. And the medallion was pure silver, Merlin had told him once. 

He blushed fiercely as he remembered how he’d fumbled giving the gift to Merlin earlier. He had been warring in his mind whether or not he should tell the truth of how he’d obtained the gift, when he’d jumbled both of his answers together. It was mortifying, though Merlin had mercifully said nothing, just smiled softly. He lost any goodwill his kindness had afforded him when he’d bestowed this fucking hat for him to wear, though. 

Where was that drink he had put to the side? Maybe he should reconsider drinking it…

Gaius wandered off a little after that, chuckling as he saw Arthur gag horribly at the foul taste of the liquid. It wasn’t even that it was bad. Just… indescribable. Salty, sweet, bitter, sour, and savory all at once, somehow. An overload of his taste buds. But it had made him pleasantly warm, his worries easing as he took in the boisterous atmosphere. One good thing since the king’s change of heart about his only son was that he had been much more willing to go all out for his son. Oh, the parties had always been extravagant; they were royalty, after all. But this was even more over the top than any other celebration he’d been forced to attend. He was sure there were birds flying around somewhere, one a Phoenix. He’d also been positive he’d passed a unicorn at one point. It had been so beautiful, but he’d been oddly reluctant to go near it. No idea why. 

He stayed in his corner, though his eyes didn’t stray from his prince. And yes, he admitted, head pleasantly numb with the strange drink, he considered the man _his_. Not to keep, or to possess. No. His to protect. His to cherish. 

His to love, even if from afar. 

He could close the distance. Part of him knew that. But he was afraid to. He still hadn’t done what he’d needed to do. What he was destined to do. How could he let himself get distracted with a relationship? He couldn’t. Maybe, when this was all over and he was somehow King (and the Dragon, Kil-whatever, had assured him he _would_ be king. Not Merlin. Or not just Merlin, he had thought the Dragon had muttered, golden eyes far too amused for his own good. He had ignored that, face flushed). But until then, he’d stay away. Romantically, at least. 

It hurt, to be so close and yet so far. The prince was still so open in the morning, smiling at him so sweetly. But usually his dreams in the tub had him muttering another name in his sleep, reminding him of who the prince truly loved. Or also loved. He wasn’t sure anymore. On one hand, the prince was always teasing him, moving close but not too close. Like earlier, he thought with a dry throat. But then he’d pull back. Like he didn’t actually want it. It confused him like nothing else did. Baffling man, he thought with a fond shake of his head. 

“You know, I’m almost offended. My favorite servant, abandoning me for the company of the corner. I fear my heart shall break,” a wry voice said, making Arthur grin as his eyes slid to the prince who had somehow arrived without him realizing it. 

“Oh, I’m your favorite now, am I?” He heard himself purr, voice far more suggestive than it ever had been before. It must be the drink, he thought absently. Though, the look of shock on Merlin’s face, which melted into a look of pure heat was very nice. “Be still my beating heart. Whatever have I done to earn such favor?” 

Merlin huffed a laugh, face pleasantly flushed. Oh, no. He’d been drinking, hadn’t he? Merlin didn’t drink often, but he was a notorious light weight. One drink and he was lost in the sauce. There was no saying what he’d do while drunk. Especially off a weird magic drink. Half the times he was just extra handsy, the other half he thought himself some epic story book hero. It really was a craps shoot. 

“Oh, Arthur. If only you knew,” the man breathed, unnaturally white teeth grinning at him. Bastard probably used magic to clean them. He likely didn’t have to brush like Gaius forced him to do, even though he hadn’t brushed for twenty-one years of his life and had never had a problem. So, what his baby teeth had often ached fiercely? His adult teeth had been fine. 

The words caught up to his head, stopping his mental tirade about the benefits and detriments of teeth brushing, his face flushing at the suggestive words. Hm. He hadn’t even had one of these purple things and he was feeling decidedly more than tipsy. It was different to how he usually felt while drinking, he noticed. His head felt like it was pleasantly full of cotton, the world brighter and happier, less dull around the edges. Huh. 

“How many of those have you had?” Arthur demanded, seeing the prince also had a purple drink. Merlin looked adorably confused, looking down at his drink. 

“Just the one. Gaius handed it to me. Said it might make the party livelier. He then went to the corner and has been chatting to a plant. He looks happy, at least, so I guess the plant is a good conversationalist,” Merlin mused, heading to take another sip. But Arthur had decided they’d probably had enough of Magic Purple Drinky, so he darted forward and grabbed the drink from Merlin’s hands and dumped both it and his own drink into the plant beside him, ignoring Merlin’s shout of protest. The plant hissed evilly as it withered and died before his eyes. Hm. Probably not good. 

“You know, I am the Crown Prince. That was treason you just committed. I could have you beheaded,” Merlin warned, adorable pout on his lips. Arthur just laughed, before moving forward to wrap his arm around the other’s shoulder, his mind whispering that it would be a good idea. Merlin always threatened him with treason when he gave him trouble. He wasn’t scared anymore. 

He could feel Merlin freeze beside him, unnaturally still for a half second before he practically melted into his side, sighing a little happy sigh. Ordinarily, he’d be paranoid that someone would spot them, but seeing as how the king was currently doing a jig on the dance floor, his feet surprisingly lithe for an old man, he wasn’t too afraid. Plus, Merlin was just too warm and pretty for him to care overly much. So, what the king might have his head? It was worth it to be so close to the prince he loved. 

“Dance with me,” Merlin breathed, turning his face to look Arthur deep in his eyes. Arthur was star-stuck as those blue orbs met his own, his tongue tied as he tried to process the words. He knew that it was a bad idea. Seemed to recall something about a reason for staying away from the prince. Huh. But for some reason he couldn’t recall the panicked feeling at the moment. In fact… he felt pretty fucking spiffy. He’d love to dance!

And so, they did. He had no idea how long the two danced, only that it was so good to feel his warm fingers on that lithe body before him. His ridiculous hat didn’t even bother him anymore. He was fairly certain it had come alive at some point and was now flying around his head, anyway, so it was no bother to him. The king was currently river dancing with his top advisors, the men all shouting and laughing. It would have been hilarious had he had any mentality to spare for anyone other than the gorgeous man before him, shining as the world turned around him. He had a moment to wonder what the Hell Gaius had given them, before deciding he didn’t care. He was having too much fun. He never wanted it to end. 

Of course, it did, as all good things must. He felt Merlin pull back, eons later, exhaustion wearing his long limbs down. They were almost the same height, but Merlin seemed taller with his still gangly limbs and lithe body. Yes, he’d gained some muscle, but some people were destined to always be scrawny. And Merlin, it seemed, was one of them. Arthur, on the other hand, was built like a brick house. Thick and sturdy. Ha. Thick. Funny word. Thhiiiicccc… 

“Let’s go out to the garden,” Merlin whispered, which seemed like the greatest idea to Arthur. The king was now talking to the same plant he assumed Gaius had been talking to earlier. Huh. Must be a great conversationalist. He’d have to have a chat later. Once he had fucked his prince beneath the pale moonlight, that was. 

Arthur blinked his eyes as the pair exited the stifling room, only realizing how warm it had been when he stepped into the frigid December air, body shaking as the cold assaulted him. His mind was still pleasantly floaty, but he had more of his mentality about him as he stared at the moon, mild horror filling him at his previous thought. Oh, God. What had Gaius given him?!

He didn’t have a chance to find out as he felt Merlin’s warm hand grasp his, tugging him ever onward. There were stars around him as they floated through the garden. Literally, he thought absently, staring at the stars that had once been in the sky but were now on the ground. That… that probably wasn’t good. 

He was starting to freak out but was forced to stop when he felt Merlin stop, eyes blinking at the sight before him. 

“An archway,” he heard himself mutter, unable to question it as he felt Merlin push him, his back suddenly flat against the freezing stone, causing his breath to catch with pain (and pleasure, he whispered to himself, as Merlin’s body pressed up to his, deliciously warm against the frigid night.)

But, sadly, whatever Gaius had given him was starting to wear off, since he’d only had half of one drink, and he was starting to realize why this was such a bad idea. It didn’t stop Merlin, who was now… now…

Ohhh, fuck, he moaned, mind shorting out again as he felt a warm mouth attack his neck. It was surprisingly skilled, as it sucked to its heart content. Arthur was willing to let it continue, but then he felt the lips move upward, brushing over his cheek as they lazily kissed him. His mind became painfully clear, though, not a hint of the drink clouding his mind when he felt warm lips hit the corner of his lips, making him jolt back, pushing the warm body away from him, panting heavily as his eyes widened impossibly. 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been worrying about his strength as he pushed, regretfully making Merlin fall on his arse as he tripped on the ridiculous robe, the man blinking up at him owlishly from his spot on the snow-covered ground. Arthur hated to admit it, but the man had never looked more desirable to him than at that moment, lips pink and shiny, hair mused, eyes dark with passion. 

But this was wrong. Neither of them was like this. They were... drunk, or something. Sure, he’d never had an alcoholic drink do such things to him, especially after only half of one, but he’d never had magical drinks before, so maybe he was just magic drunk. He didn’t know. Magic was weird. 

Merlin was pouting now, though he was blinking around him like he hadn’t known how he’d gotten there. Arthur sighed lightly as he realized he now had to chaperone a still tipsy (or whatever the magic equivalent was) prince back to his room to sleep off the rest of his magical affliction. Ugh. And he was now painfully sober. Great. 

Grumbling about how unfair his life was, he grabbed Merlin by his armpits and yanked him upwards, not caring about the indignant yelp as he manhandled the prince. 

“Unhand me! Fiend! I’m the Crown Prince!” Merlin shouted, trying to twist around to face him, but nearly toppling over as his feet got caught on his feet. Arthur watched with pity as the man yelled and tried to fight his own robe. Oh, he was never going to forget this night, he chuckled evilly, suddenly feeling better about his plight. Until Merlin’s flailing limbs bashed him over the nose, that was. Then it was less funny.

Somehow, over the span of the next several minutes, he had managed to wrangle Merlin up the stairs and into his rooms, safe and sound. Thank god, he muttered, glaring at the prince he claimed to love. If he were hit one more time by a flailing limb, he swore to god he would not be held responsible for his actions. At one point he had passed Freya and Morgana, almost calling out to them in relief to ask for help with his prince, but the girls had just been giggling madly, before they’d kissed deeply, scarring Arthur for life. He’d need to scrub his eyes out with that cleaner Gaius used. Sure, he’d be left blind, but it was better than the sight he’d seen. It had been made worse when Merlin had seen and had cooed like a fucking dove. Such. A. Girl. 

But now here they were, magic drunk Merlin fighting with his robes again. He was going to tear them if he did, and then _Arthur_ would have to fix it later. No thanks. He carefully helped his friend out of his outfit, not letting his fingers linger too long on the flushed warm skin. His head wasn’t entirely clear, sensations still so much More than ordinary, but it was easy to ignore. He wondered meanly if the king was still chatting to a plant. Would serve him right, he sniffed, manhandling Merlin into night clothes. Somehow, Arthur figured this whole thing had been the king’s fault. The bastard. 

Finally, Merlin was ready for bed, eyes drooping as he blinked owlishly at the plush mattress. Like he had no idea what to do with it. Sighing a put-upon sigh, Arthur took pity on his friend and helped him lie down, pulling down the blankets and everything. Before he could pull back and tuck the prince in (like a glorified nanny, he mentally grumbled), he felt deceptively strong arms grab him and pull him into bed with a yelp. Eyes wide, he stared at the prince, who was grinning like the cat who got the canary. Fucker. 

As he struggled to sit, he heard Merlin whine, pulling him closer. Fuck. His body was reacting to the warm, supple body near him and it was driving him mad. It was worse when Merlin let out a soft moan as he accidentally brushed his knee against the other man’s crotch, his own swelling in reply. Shit, shit. Shit. 

“Don’t go,” he heard Merlin mutter softly, eyes suddenly sad as he stared at Arthur. Arthur felt his breath stutter as he stared at the wide, blue eyes. “I don’t want to be alone. I’m scared.”

Scared? Of what?

He hadn’t realized he’d said the words aloud when Merlin shifted, pulling closer, head learning against his chest, looking content to stay there the rest of his life if he had to. Ah, fuck. He was screwed. It was like when your dog or cat fell asleep on you. You were powerless to move until they woke. It was Law. 

“Of losing you,” the prince muttered, so long later that Arthur had almost forgotten the question. 

Almost, but not quite. 

Eyes and voice impossibly soft, Arthur wrapped strong arms around the other’s warm, thin body, breathing the nature scent in deep. He’d blame it on the drink in the morning. He had a feeling a lot of people would be. 

“You won’t lose me, Merlin. Not now. Not ever. I swear,” he muttered back. Merlin didn’t reply, though. He was fast asleep, softly snuffling on Arthur’s chest. 

Ahh. What a day. First a boring ceremony, King Balinor telling the world of his son’s grandeur. He sounded proud, at least, so there was that. Then there had been an awkward lunch, Merlin ignoring him as he chatted with the other Nobles who were rich enough to feast with the king. Luckily, Merlin no longer really needed to be abusive to him, as it seemed that Balinor had realized Arthur was dear to Gaius, the king respecting the physician enough to actually request to Merlin to stop being so cruel. It had been hilarious, the two laughing so hard their bellies ached at the words. 

If only the king could see them now, he thought fondly, eyes soft as held the sleeping prince in his arms, love bites bruising on his neck. 

It had been an odd day. The end product of an entirely odd year. 

But it had been nice. 

Yeah, he thought, drifting to sleep, arms tight around _his_ Merlin. 

It sure had been nice. 

If only things could stay that way forever. 

(But nothing ever stayed.)

(Not for him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Merlin and Arthur (as well as the rest of the castle) get high from Magic Purple Drink given to them by Gaius and nearly have a Good Time. But Arthur is Too Noble and Not Good Times are had. Consent is important kids, and a high person can’t consent. Be like Arthur. 


	18. A Future Deterred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> So, I know I missed Sunday's update day, but as I think I mentioned last chapter, I've been working on this drawing project for this contest a YouTuber (Jazza, if you're curious) I follow is doing, and it's taking on all my concentration. I cannot wait for this contest to be over, because otherwise I'm going to burst from nerves. The contest ends next week, so until then, I may only be able to manage one update a week. Sorry!!
> 
> This chapter is also not proofread, since trying to read through it and edit it is just making my head hurt. I think this chapter is where I talk about Balinor's reasoning for being different than he is in canon. When I wrote it, I remember feeling so clever for coming up with this explanation, but thinking back, and skimming this chapter, I have no idea about it anymore. One day I might go over these chapters and edit them, but I'm too anxious over this contest to look at anything I did/do and not feel like an absolute failure, regardless of if it's good or not. 
> 
> On a side note, if you wanted to see my entry to the contest, you can find it on [Twitter here](https://twitter.com/DracotheCupcake/status/1284644640512040960), if you click the link. Or you can go to this URL: https://twitter.com/DracotheCupcake/status/1284644640512040960 I'm still working on one of my entries, but the other two are on there. If you'd like, I'd appreciate a like on the tweet, but y'all don't have to. ^-^ 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Yet another rebellion. Damn it. Has there been any word about catching their leader?”

Merlin sat in his chair, trapped between wanting to pay attention to the proceedings of the meeting, while also wanting to dissociate and live in his thoughts forever. It was a tough choice. 

Besides, he thought as he heard his father’s angry words, it wasn’t like it was anything new. 

Rebellions had been steadily rising in the last year. Actual rebellions, too. Not just ones his father called rebellions that were starving peasants trying to fight back against unfair laws. These protesters had actual weapons, some of them almost managing to topple whatever they were planning on toppling. There had been a case the month before of protesters trying to take over a Mage tower near the southern border. They had almost succeeded, but ultimately failed when their reinforcements came. However, the majority of the rebels had escaped by the time the battle ended. He had gone out there on his father’s orders and had found no trace of them. He’d almost think they were using magic, but they all seemed so opposed to magic that he doubted it. 

One thing was clear though. These were not the doings of starving peasants. These were organized attacks, trying to weaken their defenses. If the rebels had taken the tower, they’d have taken a major battlement of Camelot’s. 

If one asked Merlin, he’d say that the attacks likely had never been intended to succeed. Their failures had been too clinical. Too strategic. Merlin had seen enough battles and fights to know that there was something different about the recent attacks. No wonder his father was so concerned. 

And he was, too! Honest! It was just… well, in the two weeks since his birthday, he’d been awfully distracted by Arthur...

“Prince Merlin! Are you paying attention?” His father barked, frown on his face. Merlin internally winced but externally smiled. Damn. While his father had grown kinder towards him, he still got upset when Merlin slacked off. Rightfully so, he supposed. 

“Yes, my king. You were discussing the recent uprisings and requested that I head out to investigate. I apologize for not replying. I will head out at once.”

It was good Merlin had practice doing two things at once and had, in fact, been paying half attention. His father looked satisfied as he sat back, nodding tightly. He seemed upset about something, but Merlin didn’t know what. If it was the rebellions or something more. Something greater. 

“Alright. Good, my son. We must find a way to end these rebellions. I can only take so many things away from them,” the king mused, brow furrowed. 

_Perhaps_ , Merlin mused sardonically, _if you were a bit kinder and stopped forcing them to starve, they’d stop hating you and rising up_. But he didn’t dare say it aloud. 

Besides. He knew his father’s reasoning. There had been talks, long before his father had taken over, of banning magic outright in the kingdom. The prior king hadn’t hated magic, but many of his prospective usurpers did. The Great Dragon had even informed his father, several years before he took over, that if he did not become king, magic would all but be eradicated from Albion. His father had even seen it happen while in a trance, mind open to every possible future. 

Such trances often showed false prophecies, as most futures were impossible to come to pass based on evidence of real-world workings, but it was assumed that they showed alternate worlds. Worlds and lives that could have been, would have been, if only. If only your parents had never met. If only you had married your childhood sweetheart instead of the match your parents had made for you. If only you were to meet your full potential. A person had no control over the futures they witnessed, nor did they know what circumstances brought about the changes, but it often left the viewer shaking and terrified afterwards.

His father had apparently seen a future in which magic was hunted down by an at-the-time prospective king, a man with the family name Pendragon, everyone forced to keep quiet about their magic or else they would be killed. It had shaken his father and thus he had done everything he could to ensure that it would never happen. Not while he lived. At first, he had just tried to keep the man from becoming king, but it had become apparent that his actions of evasion would not have been enough. So, he had taken over, using the dragons he commanded to do so. And had enforced all non-magical people down to prevent their uprising. To prevent their own eradication. 

Merlin understood this, had been told this since before he could talk. He just… didn’t know if it was better to then go around and do the exact same thing to non-magical people. Why could they not just allow everyone to be equal? He had asked his father this once, years and years ago, when he was still small enough to sit on his father’s lap comfortably. The king had just hummed and hugged him close. 

“Sometimes, my son,” his father had rumbled, eyes distant, “you must make hard decisions as king. Decisions that, were you a young man again, you’d never have decided to make. I am not young anymore. I am not foolhardy. I have seen the horrors this world can wrought, and I have vowed to eradicate them. To end them before they can even begin. I do not expect you to understand now. But one day you will. You will understand why I have done this. For you. For us all.”

The answer had stuck with him, for how much of a non-answer it had been. It was the same one his father always gave. _You don’t understand now, but one day you will_. Well, he was older. Wiser. And he still didn’t understand. How can a person preach eradicating evil while committing evil in the same breath? 

Perhaps he was just being overly harsh, he thought as he watched his father’s brow furrow deeper as the Court went over the grain rations they still had and the hunger the people were feeling. Due to the rebellions, there had been less grain collected at harvest, leaving their storage running empty, with a couple months more of winter. They had just entered the new year and things were not starting out well. Magic could not create food, not nutrient rich food, at least. And you could only duplicate food so many times before it lost all sense of nutrition. 

Perhaps he _was_ being unfair, he mused again, watching as the court adjourned, his father deflating as everyone but Merlin left, the man looking older and wearier than Merlin thought he’d ever be allowed to see his father. Usually he’d leave, too, let his father gather his thoughts but… something told him to stay. He didn’t know what. Why something about this moment felt so, so… important. 

Perhaps he would have made the same decisions, he wondered softly, as he stood and approached his father, who had stood and was now looking out the window at the courtyard below. He’d never have considered doing such a thing a year prior, but he had hoped they’d grown close enough that his father would feel at ease enough to unburden his mind. At least a little. 

“I’m just trying to keep us all alive,” his father whispered, eyes dark and unseeing as he stared into the courtyard below, back tense and taut as his mind barraged him with potential futures that he hoped he had prevented but had no idea if he hadn’t created something far worse. In that moment… Merlin did not envy his father. Hand hesitant, Merlin reached out and laid a gentle hand on his father’s shoulder, the man tensing more before relaxing somewhat. Merlin could still feel the tension as it radiated outwards, filling the large room, though. 

“I know, father. And you have done the best you can to do that. I know this,” he whispered, the sound seeming too loud in the quiet of the room. His father tensed again, bowing his head as he rested against the window, breathing deep. 

“Do you understand now, my son? Why I’ve done this? Can you possibly understand?” The king whispered, eyes distant and unseeing. His father wasn’t there, he realized with a start, not in this room. He was millions of miles away. In a future that would never come to pass but might have. Possibly. One day. 

And he also realized, throat dry, that his father wasn’t blaming him for not understanding, like he had always thought the man was when he asked. Not this time, at least. He wasn’t trying to insinuate that Merlin was wrong for his lack of comprehension. He was legitimately asking if Merlin could possibly understand. If, had he known what his father knew, would he have done the same thing? He was nearing the age his father had been when he had taken over. Half a decade off. Perhaps his father had doubts. 

“I, I don’t know. I understand some. But… why? Why must we kill them? They’re just trying to live. Like us. Why must we starve them and keep them down? Surely they’d listen more if we just… helped them?” 

It sounded so simple, to him. That’s why he’d be a bad king, he thought queasily, his father shaking his head slowly, eyes still unseeing. He was too soft. Too caring. Too naive. 

“Then you don’t understand. They would have us killed. Hunted. Our children, our babies. You would have had to live in isolation, my son. Far from comfort, from me. Serving a man who didn’t care for you. You would have had to hide who you were. All your life, or else face death. What kind of life is that? Perhaps I have been too cruel, my fear forcing my hand. But if I hadn’t done this, all of this… a far worse fate would have befallen our kind. They would have risen against me and taken everything from us. Non-magical people will always live in fear of what they do not understand. They never would have let me be king if I didn’t use force. They’d take over. You see how they rise against me, even now. They’d never give in. Never let us live in peace. That is all I have ever wanted,” his father claimed, voice soft and yearning, eyes clouded as he lifted a fisted hand to his chest. “Peace.” 

Merlin felt a lump enter his throat. His father had never been so soft before. So open. Not with him. This was a side he’d never seen, even in his youth. He had no idea why his father was letting him see this side now, why he was acting like this. If he ever would again. But Merlin would not squander his chance. He stepped closer, hand pressing firmer to his father’s back. Trying to comfort the older man. 

“Maybe if you showed them mercy, they’d stop rising up. Maybe they could see they have nothing to fear from us. Maybe… maybe we could all live in peace, together?” He whispered. He wanted to believe this could be true. Wanted to believe in a future where he and Arthur and Gwaine and all of their friends could live together on equal footing. A true kingdom. 

But his father just turned and stared at him, seeing but not really seeing. Like he saw the future wisp of the boy he could have been. The king had never gone into detail of what he had seen in his vision, but he had alluded that he’d seen Merlin, grown, a servant to an uncaring prince whose face he’d never really seen. Maybe that was why he had always felt such kinship with Arthur. That could have been him, had things been different. 

“If I showed them mercy now, they’d just take it and use it to stab me in the back. Their resentment has grown too much. I cannot afford to back down. Not now. Not after all I have done. Or else it all would have been for naught. There are many things I regret, my son. But if I have saved our people, our kin, from being slaughtered? Then it all would have been worth it. Is it wrong to create a little evil to save ourselves from a worse fate? They’d have done the same to us. I know they would have,” the king muttered, closing his eyes tightly. Merlin’s throat was drier than a desert, and he longed to leave this conversation. To never have to understand the burden his father was under. But that was selfish of him. He was a prince. He had to learn the burden of the crown one day. 

“Maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they’d be grateful to you for being merciful. Maybe-“

“You are a kindhearted person, my son, but I have never taken you for a fool. Tell me. If you had been bound and chained for decades, would you ever bow to your conqueror, no matter what kindness he may show? Would you ever even trust it?” 

Merlin swallowed thickly and said nothing. They both knew his answer. After all, while kind and sometimes naive, he was no fool. His father continued, turning back from the intense stare he’d leveled at Merlin to look at the courtyard. At the servants and Nobles milling around. 

“No. I have no room for regret. I cannot afford it. This moment of weakness is bad enough. I do not expect you to understand. You have not seen what I have seen. What I have witnessed. You’ve not seen the bitter vitriol a man can feel towards those he fears. The absolute sorrow that can make even the kindest man bitter. I envy you, my child. As much as I am grateful that you have been spared such a fate.” 

The room filled with silence then. Just father and son, existing together. It would have been heartwarming, had Merlin not felt so bitterly cold inside.

“There was a time I thought you would betray me, one day,” his father whispered, long moments later, eyes fierce on Merlin once more. Merlin’s own eyes just widened, unable to do anything other than shake his head in horror. _No_ , he thought. He could never betray his father. His only living family. The king just smiled, eyes dim and mirthless, sorrow radiating from his every pore. “I can see now that you never would. You are loyal, my son, so fiercely loyal, though I have done nothing to earn such loyalty. I was afraid, allowing my fear to consume me. I can only hope that you can one day forgive me. For all I have done. You will be the greatest king Albion has ever known. I do not doubt that. I pray that you can fix the mistakes I have made. I am forever sorry that you will have to.”

Merlin didn’t know what he could say. If there was anything he could say. He just watched, dumb, as his father looked down at his chest and smiled mirthlessly, eyes sadder than ever. Merlin was confused for a second before his father reached out and touched something, grasping it a second later. _His necklace,_ he realized with horror, not knowing when the thing had escaped from his robes. He’d been so careful to not allow his father to see. 

“This is a beautiful pendent, my son. Whoever gave it to you must care for you a great amount. I am glad. I have hurt you enough that it gladdens me to see you have someone who can possibly fix those hurts.”

What… what was his father saying? He’d been careful. So very, very careful, to hide his feelings. Sure, he had grown a touch complacent, now that his father didn’t expect his abject hatred of his servant, but he’d never shown anything even close to affection towards the man. So how could he have known? Unless... but no. His father probably thought it a gift from a courtier or mage. Perhaps from Morgana, as he had noted once that the two seemed close, smirking. That was it. It had to be. Still. He had to assuage any fears. Any lingering doubts. He couldn’t lose Arthur. Not now. 

“I-it was a birthday gift. From- from Lady Freya,” Merlins stammered, hoping his father believed the lie. The man just gave him a knowing look, but said nothing, taking a step back. 

“Then I am glad you have her. She is a good woman. Kind. I do not regret taking her in all those years ago. I knew she would mean a great deal to you, in time. Though I fear she does not mean to you what I had once assumed she would. It matters not. You have grown into an incredible young man. You will grow into an incredible king, one day. You still have much to learn, I fear, but you are getting closer. I do not doubt that.”

With that, the king stepped back some more and let his expressionless mask fall into place, effectively ending the conversation. Merlin could do nothing but watch as his father clasped his shoulder, nodding once in acknowledgement, before striding off. Leaving Merlin behind, so wrong-footed and awkward as he stared out the window into the courtyard below, people milling about like ants. 

It wasn’t until several minutes later that he heard the courtroom door open again, Merlin turning to see a concerned Arthur hesitantly walk in. Arthur rarely, if ever, joined him during Court. Only when he was ill and needed tending to, but was required at Court, would his father allow it. But Arthur often hovered nearby to wait for him. It seemed he had tarried too long. 

“Are you alright, Merlin? The king approached me and told me to go to you. I was terrified he was about to stab me or something, but he just gave me an odd look. Are you alright?”

Was he alright? He had no idea. He sighed as he wandered over to a bench near the wall, back hunched as he sat. He heard Arthur hesitantly follow, before sitting beside him. He felt a warm hand carefully touch his back, like it was uncertain if it was wanted. It was such a parallel to his conversation with his father that he almost smiled. 

“Alright. Now you’re worrying me. What’s wrong? Don’t be such a girl, Merlin,” Arthur claimed, which was his way of saying he was willing to listen. Such an odd man, Merlin thought with mild humor, looking up at his now dearest friend. His heart. Such intricate rituals he danced through to show any sign of caring. It must be exhausting. 

“I just… I don’t know. Father told me some things that I never expected him to say. About ruling. That’s all.” 

That’s all, he said. Like he hadn’t just been told something that shook the foundation of everything he’d ever believed in. _That’s all_.

“Hm. That doesn’t seem like ‘that’s all,’” Arthur pointed out drily. Merlin laughed, a touch mirthless. He knew him too well. 

“Yeah, I know. I don’t know. My father saw the future once, you know.”

Arthur looked shocked at that. Seemed he didn’t know. That’s alright, Merlin didn’t expect him to. Not many did know. His father was a private man, keeping everyone- even his own son, usually- out. Merlin only knew because he’d seen the nightmares that Gaius treated his father for. He wasn’t a seer, Gaius had explained kindly, once. Not like Merlin knew Morgana to be. He was just plagued by the futures he had seen. That was why, Gaius had warned him at age eight, that playing with the future was a dangerous game. It could lead to madness if one wasn’t careful. To seeing ghosts and enemies where none existed. Merlin had asked, then, naive as only a child could be, if his father was mad. Gaius had just looked at him sadly and changed the subject. 

“He had been about my age at the time, Gaius said. He’d been told by the Great Dragon, warned of a horrible future for magical beings of all sorts. Father then entered a magical trance in the crystal caves, scrying for the future the Dragon mentioned. And he found it, as well as a number of others, each worse than the last. They had terrified him, I guess. Everything he has done since then has been to prevent the future he saw from coming true. But playing with the future and destiny can do funny things. There’s no way of knowing if anything was actually prevented, or just delayed. It can lead to paranoia and fear taking hold. It’s why it’s not advised to do such a thing.” 

Merlin said it plainly, like it was everyday material he was talking about, but Arthur looked horrified. Merlin didn’t blame him. He’d have been horrified if he’d been old enough to understand, at the time. And now it was just common knowledge to him. 

“What… what had he seen?” Arthur asked, shifting closer on the bench, their sides pressed fully together as the huddled close. It was nice, Merlin thought. Intimate. He smiled mirthlessly and looked at Arthur sadly. 

“Terrible things. I don’t know all of it, Father not even telling Gaius the whole truth, but he saw a world where magic was outlawed. Banned on pain of death. He saw children murdered, drowned, all because the king feared them.”

“King Henry?” Arthur interrupted, looking confused. Merlin shook his head. The previous king hadn’t hated magic, to Merlin’s knowledge. He’d been too old, anyway, to wage such a war. 

“No, whoever was planning on taking over instead of my father. He never fully knew who it would have been, the faces blurred as they often are in future prophecies, but the family crest he had briefly seen was reminiscent of the one of the House of Pendragon. He assumed it would either be the old Knight Uther Pendragon or his- at the time- unborn son, perhaps. Uther had been an odds-on favorite to claim the crown anyway. It was a safe bet.” 

Merlin said the words causally, but he watched in confusion as Arthur blenched horribly, looking back with wide eyes. Merlin just looked at him, puzzled. 

“Pendragon?” Arthur repeated, faintly. Huh. Merlin squinted, turning to face Arthur fully. 

“Yeah. Why? Do you know that name?”

Arthur licked his lips but shook his head slowly. 

“No… no, just an old story my mum told me once. About an old knight. That’s all.”

Hm. Merlin didn’t know if he believed him. His reaction… but, he wouldn’t pry. If Arthur wanted to keep it private, who was he to force it out? Besides. He knew that Arthur’s family had been Noble, once. The Du Bois family had once been close to the Pendragon’s. Perhaps Ygraine had known the man. 

“Hm. Anyway, my father had proceeded to do all he could to prevent the futures he had seen. He had tried to just prevent Uther from becoming king, succeeding time and time again. But King Henry just grew older and older. Other knights vied for his heirless throne. Other knights who would have been just as bad, my father feared. And so, with help of the dragons he commanded, he took over Camelot by force, enforcing his rule. When the Great Dragon betrayed him, my father had him locked away. From there, everything he has done has been to keep the various futures he saw at bay. Like I said, you can’t know if you’ve ever really changed the future or if you’ve just delayed it. He had to be sure.”

Silence reigned after that, both men staring into the distance as they thought. It was Arthur who finally broke it. 

“And what of the old knight? The Pendragon. And his son. What became of them?” 

Merlin shrugged. He had no idea. 

“No clue. Father had tried to have them killed, Gaius told me when I had asked, but they had gotten help escaping. Their son had only been an infant at the time, I wasn’t even born, still in my mother’s womb. Their records were destroyed and their tracks expertly hidden. Father thought the Great Dragon has been the cause of it, of altering people’s memories and making it harder to find the man and his family, which had sparked his intense rage at the beast, who somehow had been able to defy a Dragonlord. The Dragon is still locked beneath the castle, you know. Kilgharrah. I met him once. He told me of a prophecy, the Once and Future King. I have no idea what he was talking about, though.”

A lie. Merlin had an inkling of an idea, now bolstered by the fact his father had thought he would betray him one day. It was ridiculous, of course. Merlin was nothing if not loyal, almost to a fault. He was half positive he’d walk off a cliff if his father commanded it. 

“Are you… are you afraid that they’d come here one day? Exacting revenge?”

Hm. Good question. Merlin shrugged again, ignoring his unease at the question, as well as the wary look on Arthur’s face. 

“I have no idea. I wouldn’t blame them, if they did. I love my father, don’t get me wrong. But I know the evil he has done. He asked me, just now, if committing a little evil to save people from a worse fate was wrong. And I... I do not know. Maybe for us. For the magical people. But for the non-magical people, like you, like your friends? Like the Pendragon family, if they still live? … no. I doubt it would be worth it.” 

More silence followed, the men both lost in thought. After a while, Merlin stood, groaning at the fatigue he felt plague him. 

“Well, this has been a long day. I have some paperwork to get done before dinner. Do you think you could summon a bath tonight? I know I had one last night, but I think I may need it today. With the lavender oil. I think it will help. Father expects me to ride out to the villages where the rebellions took place, to figure out what I can. See if there is a pattern. We ride at dawn, so be sure to be well rested, alright? Take a hot bath yourself, take all the scented oils you need. You look like you need it.”

Merlin meant the words in a kind way, thinking it would be good to help the man relax since he looked so tense after their talk, but smirked meanly when Arthur glared at him, tentatively sniffing at his shirt and making a face. Merlin honestly didn’t mind the other’s scent. It was oddly calming. Like polish and dirt and sweat. It should be revolting, but it oddly comforted him. It was just so distinctly... _Arthur_. 

“Alright, fine, _your majesty_ ,” Arthur teased, rolling his eyes before crossing them while sticking out his tongue, making Merlin laugh. The man did that more often lately, he noticed fondly as the man laughed in return. Did foolish things that once would have mortified him, all to make Merlin laugh. It seemed his tendency to play the fool had rubbed off on Arthur. Good. The man could do with a touch more humility. The way he acted sometimes, one would think him the prince and Merlin the servant. 

The servant he could have been, had the world been different. 

Hm. He didn’t want to think about that. 

Instead, he wandered out to the main castle, readjusting the uncomfortable crown on his head, hiding his pendant under his robes as he did so. It didn’t matter as much now, keeping the pendant hidden, since his father knew. But he still felt a desire to keep it unseen. Safe. He thought of the necklace he’d given Arthur, which he had since upgraded the magic spell he had once placed on it, making it protect against stronger, more powerful attacks. He liked the thought of them having secret necklaces they had gifted one another. It felt… sweet. Intimate. There was no magic on the pendant Arthur gave him, but it felt like it kept him safe regardless. 

Or maybe it did have magic, after all, he thought later as he lazed in his bath, lavender scent relaxing his very bones, Arthur puttering around as he tried (and failed) to not make his glances obvious. He held the pendent between lazy fingers, staring at the dragon’s fierce golden eyes, his bright red, bleeding heart. 

Maybe it just wasn’t the kind of magic one could see. 

After all. 

Wasn’t love, in and of itself, a form of magic? 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

Arthur was panicking. Definitely panicking. Oh, dear god. 

“Would you stop pacing? You’re disrupting my work,” Gaius called, annoyance clear in his voice. Arthur just glared at the man who had become a father to him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just learned that the king apparently wanted my father- and me! - dead! Probably still does! Sorry that that bothers you!”

Gaius rolled his eyes, like the rude, cruel old man he was, Arthur thought meanly. 

“I did warn you to never tell anyone your last name, didn’t I? And you’ve not, have you?” Gaius questioned lightly, raising The Dreaded Eyebrow of Doom (he’d upgraded its moniker over the past year. He felt it warranted it.). 

“No! And yes, you did warn me! Because the king had thought my father would challenge him as king! Not because my father had apparently _actually_ been king in an alternate life!”

Arthur remembered something, something very old that he’d almost forgotten. On his first visit to the Great Dragon, the beast had mentioned that his father could have become a terrible man, had life followed a different path. That he’d have caused death and destruction. Arthur had pushed the thought aside, having immediately afterwards learned about his shared destiny with Merlin, which had taken precedence in his mind, but he remembered it painfully now. Would his father truly have been so horrible? Would he truly have been as bad, if not _worse_ , than Balinor? He shuddered to think it. Couldn’t, actually, think it. He’d idolized the idea of his father for so long...

“I hadn’t known that part. Not fully. King Balinor is a private man, Arthur. He keeps his thoughts similarly private. I had just known that he’d seen the Pendragon crest and feared your father. But the future is not something to be taken lightly, and there is no way of knowing anything for sure. If your father was actually the dreaded king or not. I had assumed that might be the assumption King Balinor would make, especially after he ordered your family to be killed, myself risking life and limb to help you three escape, but I had never known for sure if he was right or not.”

Oh, right. Arthur rolled his eyes, anger and resentment simmering in him like a slow-moving storm. Like hell Gaius didn’t know. He was a smart man. And even still, he should have told him. He shouldn’t have had to find out from _Merlin_ , of all people. 

“You’re a liar, Gaius. You kept this from me. For over a year and a half! I should have known! I thought you lo- cared about me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Arthur tried. He really, really did try to keep the pain and betrayal from his voice. But it leaked through anyway, causing him to turn his face down in shame as Gaius looked at him with sorrow in his old eyes. Oh, God. He hadn’t meant to do that. He didn’t want pity. 

As Gaius approached, he wanted to back away, but his pride didn’t let him. He just looked up at the approaching man, venom in his gaze as Gaius looked at him with damned _pity_. It didn’t deter the older man, Gaius instead resting his arms gently on Arthur’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. Arthur set his jaw, own eyes blazing with raw emotion, but he didn’t turn away. 

“Oh, my dear boy. You know that I adore you. You are the son I never had. I never expected to have such a gift, so late in life. You know I love you like my own. And that is why, my boy, I never told you. Couldn’t tell you. The future is not something to be trifled with. I watched, helpless, as its knowledge burdened my friend, turning a once great and kind man into a fearful tyrant. I couldn’t bear to think of the same thing happening to you. The future, or any possible future, is best left alone. No good comes from knowing where your future lies. Destiny is one thing. It is a possible path, a guiding path. But you have the choice to not follow it, if you so choose. The future, while not set in stone, will always happen, one way or another. Trade one tyrant king for another. One life for a different life. No matter what, you can’t stop the future from happening. Kilgharrah learned that the hard way.” 

Arthur felt sick. He gasped at the words, closing his eyes tight. No. No, Gaius was wrong. His father wouldn’t have been a tyrant. Not in any timeline. _No_.

“Oh, my boy. See, this is exactly what I had wanted to prevent. It will do you no good, Arthur, to dwell too long on what might have been. What your father might or might not have done matters little now. It is what you decide to do, my boy, that matters most. What you and Merlin can achieve. That’s all that matters. Not what may, possibly have been, in a future already deterred.”

Arthur didn’t know what to think. He wanted to trust Gaius’s words. He really, really did. But he couldn’t get the words of the Dragon out of his head, now that he had remembered them. Now that they had been pulled from the depth of his memory, laid bare for him to see. 

Gaius was wrong. Arthur did know for certain what his father would have done. Had fate followed a different path. Kilgharrah had practically told him. He’d just been too blind to see. 

The question was, did it still matter? Did it matter what the man could have done? Or was Gaius right? Did it only matter, now, what he and Merlin did in this future? This timeline that Balinor had created through his intense fear? Or was there some merit in Balinor’s fear? Had he only, ever, delayed the inevitable? What if… if instead of his father… what if _he_ …

“I don’t know, Gaius. I really don’t. I just...” Arthur paused, trying to get his words out properly. “I have just spent all my life looking up to my father. To his memory, his legacy. I strove to become the kind of man my father would be proud of, so that if I ever- if I ever met him, one day. If he still is alive. That maybe… maybe he’d be proud of me.”

To his endless mortification, tears formed in his eyes, making him gasp as he looked up to keep them in. Gaius made a sympathetic noise, but Arthur wasn’t done. He shook his head violently. 

“But to hear, that he could have been a tyrant… and I’m sure he would have been. The Dragon told me as such when we first met. Said he had hoped Balinor would be a better man, but he’d been wrong. I hadn’t realized what he had meant, at the time, but now… It’s just… it’s so opposite from the man I think of when I picture my father. A man, bright and noble, and true and just. A man who could do no wrong, who vanquished evil. I spent so long wanting to be a man he’d be proud of, but what if I wouldn’t have been proud of the man _he_ was? Is? What if I have been lying to myself, Gaius? What if-”

“Arthur, no. I knew your father. Uther was a great man-”

“So was Balinor, once! You said it yourself! But it doesn’t matter how great a man is in youth, not if he becomes a monster as an adult! And… and what about _me_ , Gaius?” And that was the crux of the whole thing, he felt, as a tear rolled down his face. He wiped at it angrily, furious at his stupid emotions. “If my father had been king, then I would have been prince. Right? Like Merlin. What if I had just stood by as my father did terrible things? I’ve often wondered how Merlin could do it, could watch Balinor do such horrible things with nary a complaint. But what if I was just like that? Or worse? What if I, I was… was complacent, was a willing... w-what if _I_ -” 

God. He was pathetic, he thought, as a sob rose in his chest. He tried to beat it down, but he couldn’t. 

He wanted to believe he was a good man. A righteous man. Kind and loyal and just. But didn’t every man want to believe that? He was sure Valiant, the bastard, had thought himself a good man. Even as he killed a young sorcerer in his prime, all for a shot at glory. Had almost killed a prince, the best man Arthur had ever known, for the same vain reason. Balinor probably thought himself a good man, too. Once. A great man, probably, for deterring such a horrible future. 

He didn’t want to think he could ever have been cruel. Or horrible. Or unkind. But what if, in that possible future… what if he had been? What if Merlin had been _his_ servant, forced to suffer from _his_ cruelty? Arthur knew himself enough to know he’d have not been as incredible to Merlin as Merlin was to him. Arthur had too much deadly pride. If he were prince, he’d likely not even allow himself to befriend his servant. It would have been improper; he’d learned that much through talking to the other servants. Merlin had never cared about that sort of thing, just proving how amazing of a man he truly was. Arthur wasn’t like that. Not in this life, certainly not in the other. 

Before he could let his thoughts circle any further, he felt a warm hand on his cheek, forcing his eyes, which had glazed over while staring at the wall, back to Gaius’s concerned blue ones. 

“Oh, Arthur. My dear, dear boy. _No_. I do not know what the future may have brought. Once upon a time. But I have no doubts that you would have been as kind and just as you always have been. All that has changed has been certain aspects of the future. Not what makes up you, at your core. You are a good man, Arthur Pendragon. You are not your father, not here, not in any universe. You are, always, only, yourself. And who you make yourself out to be. No more, no less.” 

“But-”

“No. No buts. Dwelling on possibilities leads to madness, Arthur. Perhaps, out there, there is a universe in which I became king and eradicated all life on earth in a bitter crusade. Or, perhaps, a universe in which I was the daring hero, destined to rid the land of evil. Or perhaps a world in which I’d been born a girl. Or never born at all. The possibilities are endless, my boy. If you dwell on it for too long, you’ll just drive yourself mad. Half of what makes up a man is how he is raised. Who cared for him; who nurtured him. But half, Arthur. Half of it is who you, inherently, at your core, are. And you? You are an incredible young man. Inside and out. I am eager to see the things you will do. I would give my life if I had to, to have you succeed. I believe in you that much.” 

He couldn’t help the sob that released at that, the tears finally spilling. Before he could wipe them away in shame, Gaius wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tight to the deceptively strong chest. The first real hug he had had since his last trip to Fayford, a few months prior. God, he missed it. Being close to someone. He wanted to be distant, since a man relied on no one, save maybe his wife, but he didn’t like being so solitary. So alone. He was a social creature, surrounding himself in friends and followers, people who would follow his lead, even to their deaths. Ewan had proved that. But he wasn’t built for a solitary life. For being so closed off 

What if-

But no, he forced himself to think, squeezing Gaius tighter. The older man was right. It didn’t matter. Maybe he was a horrible person in that other future. Maybe he was as big a prat as he’d once thought Merlin to be. Bigger, maybe. 

But it didn’t matter. Not to him. He, at this moment, was the same person he’d been the day before, and the day before that. He was evolving, growing, searching for his true self. Or maybe just expanding, no true self ever available but the true self he currently was. Maybe he had no end goal, no perfect destination. Maybe he’d never fully be ‘done’ being the person he so badly wanted to be. 

It would take work. Hard work, and discipline. Struggle and strife. He’d do wrong things, make wrong moves. He’d likely hurt people, be hurt in return. But that was life. No one can know what the future holds. It would just lead to madness, as Gaius said. To know the future… to taste it… to see its horror and its glory… and yet know, no matter what you did, the future would come true. One way or another. 

He wondered, then. What kind of man Balinor would have been? Would Merlin have been? Would they have been good? Would Balinor have loved his son as fiercely as he should have, no prophecy lying over them, souring their love? Would Balinor have died? Left? 

Who knew? As Gaius said. The possibilities were endless. Why dwell on what could have been, but never was? The fact remained that, in this time, this day and age? Balinor was not a good man. He’d done too much, hurt too many to be considered that. 

But maybe… maybe, Arthur realized as he pulled back and frowned at the fire in the warm hearth. Maybe Balinor wasn’t a _bad_ man, either. It was strange to think. He’d always known that Merlin loved the man, but he’d never understood why. He’d figured it was just blind loyalty. But Merlin was a brilliant man. Loving and caring. And oh so _good_. In the traditional sense. He wouldn’t have given his loyalty away to just anyone. Not even his father. Not like Arthur would, giving blind loyalty to a man he’d never even met, had only heard a few tales about. Merlin wouldn’t have loved his father so deeply if there wasn’t something there for him to love. He was suddenly certain of it. 

All Arthur’s life he’d hated the king. The cruel tyrant who had stolen his land, had ruined his family. Had driven his father away, possibly even killed him. He’d thought him evil and wrong and unjust. 

But maybe… maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was just a man. A man who’d been so afraid he’d been willing to ruin himself for the supposed ‘greater good’. 

What would Arthur do? If he had learned of everything that occurred through Balinor’s reign, before it had happened. If he had witnessed the countless crimes and monstrosities that Balinor would commit. If he had been gifted with foresight and the ability to do something about it. 

What would he have done?

He’d have tried to stop it, he realized, eyes wide. Consequences be damned. Gaius was staring at him, wary, like he was afraid Arthur was about to jump into the flame. But no. Arthur saw clearly, now. For once. 

If you had the chance to do a little evil now, to prevent far greater evil later… wouldn’t you try and do it? Even if your action were evil, would it matter, if they prevented something worse? 

...Hm. It was a lot to think about. Morality and destiny and fate. Was any man truly evil, or just a product of their situation? After all, the road to Hell was paved with good intentions. And the path to heaven marred with the folly of the damned. 

God. It was hard to wrap his mind around. If it was so easy to do evil, to harm others, what prevented him from doing the same thing, should he ever become king? He’d always trusted in his inherent goodness, inherited from his father, he’d assumed. And mother. But what if no such thing existed? What if… 

What if he was only, ever, who he made himself into? 

It was terrifying. To think. He could be evil, like he’d always assumed Balinor was. Like his father might have been. It would have been easy to go down that path. To follow false prophets. To march, so willingly, into Hell.

But… no. No, he realized, smiling softly at the warm fire glow. Gaius was still looking at him, so concerned, so Arthur turned and smiled brightly at him. 

No. 

He wouldn’t become like Balinor. Or like the man his father could have been. Maybe. In another life. And you know why?

Because he had Gaius. He had his mother. He had his friends; Gwaine, Percival, Leon. Even Lancelot. He had Gwen; sweet, righteous Gwen. 

And, most of all, he had Merlin. 

These people, the ones he cared for like no one else. The ones he loved with all his heart. The ones who, time and time again, gave him strength and courage and love, love, _love_. Even when he’d done nothing to earn it. What had he done, after all, to earn the favor of a prince? Nothing, he felt. But Merlin had seen something in him. Maybe it was their shared destiny, preying on Merlin in his unaware state. Maybe it was just their bond muddling things. 

Or maybe Merlin had seen the man he could become, if given support, and had chosen, actively, to give said support. Maybe Merlin believed in him just as much as he believed in Merlin. He may never truly know. 

The prophecy claimed that Arthur, the Once and Future King, would defeat the tyrant sorcerer king with Merlin, the world’s most powerful sorcerer, by his side. The prophecy never, at all, said how that would happen. How they would go about defeating the evil. 

Never said the king had to die, or even be overthrown. Never said the king, himself, was the evil they would vanquish. It was only the vast retellings that said that. 

The future was in their hands. Maybe it had been written, eons ago. Maybe everything was predetermined, their future more like a rat maze than an open field. 

Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So many _maybes_ , the word didn’t even sound real anymore. Like a fake word. Nonsense. 

Regardless, the future was unknown to him. He had the power to craft it to his will, then. If one didn’t know the future the universe had planned, didn’t one, technically, have all possible futures open to them? If they didn’t know which script they were following? 

Balinor’s mistake was assuming that the future he could bring would be greater than the future he has deterred. He’d assumed that his goodness, his righteousness, would be enough to counter the future he had seen. He’d been wrong. That had been his biggest downfall. Arthur wondered if the man saw that. If the righteous, good man Gaius and Merlin saw Balinor to be was whimpering, beaten back by the cruel monster that was fear. 

That was a thought. Would he be able to save Balinor, too? Merlin’s own father? Would he, _could he_ , possibly be Good enough for that?

God. This was too much. He felt like he’d just drunk a barrel full of whiskey and had the secrets of the universe implanted into his head. Like he’d just glimpsed at the veil between worlds and had gained eternal knowledge. Like he’d eaten the forbidden fruit. 

It was probably nonsense. He was likely wrong. Maybe some men were just inherently evil. Maybe Balinor was an evil, cruel man, and the love Merlin and Gaius felt for him was unfounded. 

He doubted it, though. Now that he thought of it. 

“You look exhausted, Arthur. I do not know what is running through your mind right now, but I can tell it is profound. Listen to it, my boy. Whatever you are thinking just very well might be right. But you should get some rest. Merlin had a bath sent to your room earlier, enchanting it himself to keep it perfect temperature. Enjoy yourself, Arthur. Relax and let your mind wander as you bathe. A good bath can be very healing for the soul, you know.”

Gaius said it so matter of fact that Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. He gave Gaius a teasing grin, grateful to be able to think of something else. His head was aching too much from his thinking. It was exhausting. Was this what philosophers did all day? Ew. Gross. Disgusting. When he was king, he’d outlaw thinking. That wasn’t the ruling of a soon-to-be mad tyrant. Just of a sensible man. 

“Is that an official treatment from the famed court physician, then?” He teased, even as he wandered up to his room. Gaius chuckled, calling after him. 

“Yes! Never forget the healing properties a nice, warm bath can provide. And then some rest. You’re going to have a busy time, I’m afraid. The next several years will not be kind. Take any moment you can to rest and relax. You will need it.”

Arthur smiled at the words, ignoring how his stomach churned at the thought. He wanted to bathe, in scented oil no less, and forget the troubles of the day. Not gain new ones, thanks. 

Before he could finish heading upstairs, though, Gaius called out once again, voice warm. 

“Oh, and Arthur,” he called, causing Arthur to turn back curiously. Gaius was smiling, eyes bright and happy. “I know, while I consider you my son, you are not so. Still, I hope that it means something when I say that I am proud, so very, very _proud_ of the man you have become. I know I have no right to claim any of your progress for my own, but I can only hope that I have helped you as much as you have helped me. Now, rest, my boy. You’ve earned it.”

Doing his best to keep from bawling like a child again, he nodded tightly and fled into his room, throat so tight it hurt to breathe. He wanted to say something back, to express how much Gaius had done for him over the past year and a half. How he loved him as fiercely as he would love his father, he was sure. But he couldn’t. He’d try, later. But for now, he was too tired and wanted to just not think for a while. 

And as he bathed, the luxurious scent of lavender and lilac filling the air, soothing his body and mind (making him finally understand how sleepy Merlin always got while bathing, by the by), he let his worries drift away. Oh, he knew himself. He’d be thinking about all this again someday. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. But god, was he tired of maybes. 

The future was fluid. Only a foolish man would try and change that which was not yet set in stone. Would try and learn of fates better left alone. Arthur liked to think he wasn’t a particularly foolish man. But who knew? Who, honestly, knew? 

Finally, once he’d reluctantly left the tub and gotten dressed, lying in his slightly-too-hard bed, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

And dreamed of bright blue eyes, twinkling in the light, looking at him with the same abject adoration he looked at them with. A warm hand pressed against his and a comfortable weight in his chest. Love. 

And it was good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this chapter make sense? I don't remember much from it, other than my explanation for why Balinor is different is that he saw the canon future in a trance in the crystal cave, was like "dude, WTF???" And did everything he could to, ya know... prevent that future. I expand on this in later chapters, I think, but he hadn't initially wanted to become king, just meant to prevent the future from happening by preventing Uther (but he didn't know it was Uther, not for sure, as the face was blurred, for plot reasons... but we all know it was Uther) from being king and doing his ban on magic. 
> 
> But, over time, he realized that it wasn't enough, and that he'd have to make a big wave to erase that future, and voila, he slowly but surely became the morally dubious king he is today. As they always say, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Good men get led astray sometimes, doing what they hope is right. And Balinor has to pretend that what he's doing is the right thing, or else he will crumble, and everything he has done, good and bad, will be worthless. To put it this way, he's done so much bad, that the only way he can justify it to himself is to do more bad, hoping that eventually it will turn out for the better. Yes, this logic is very, very flawed, and Balinor does know this, to some extent. But when you're careening down a downward path, it can be very hard to convince yourself to stop and turn around. 
> 
> I hope this makes sense... if you can't tell, I spend a lot of time ruminating on why people sometimes go down bad paths, know they're going down bad paths, and yet still go down these paths. The way I see it, it's easier to pretend that it's all for the greater good, that it will work out for the better eventually, than to concede to yourself that maybe, just maybe... everything you are doing is wrong and that, in fact, you are the bad guy. I don't view Balinor as evil, like I never viewed Uther as evil. Just as a man who had to believe that he was doing the right thing, regardless of the evidence to the contrary. 
> 
> So, yeah. This chapter is the foundation for a lot of my future plot, so pay attention to the details. 
> 
> Also, I made Arthur cry again. While writing this note, I read part of this chapter and just... Ugh. I'm sorry, y'all. I tend to write emotional characters, but I don't think Arthur would cry as much as I make him in this story. I think I might go through this story at some point and fix that, make Arthur cry less often. Merlin was a more emotional person in canon, but Arthur rarely cried, which I just... threw to the wayside, apparently. -.-


	19. Pendragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a day late, sorry! I donated blood for the first time yesterday, which messed up my schedule for a bit. I'm all good, though, so no worries. ^-^ 
> 
> Anyway! This chapter is very plot heavy, building up the plot I created. Fun fact: I came up with this plot on the fly, pretty much. I knew I wanted to get away from doing a straight series rewrite, since I've never been a fan of those, but had no idea where to go, ya know?? But I came up with this plot after writing the 16th chapter, so it was all good, aha. I did some editing for this chapter, but let me know if you notice any glaring errors. 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and reviews!! They mean a lot to me. Anxiety is the worst sometimes, so it's nice to know that people are enjoying this. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Ow! God damn it,” Merlin muttered, rubbing his head where he’d accidentally hit it on a low hanging beam. He scowled as Arthur snickered meanly, though the servant just smiled innocently when Merlin glared at him. 

It had been a long day. He’d spent most of it on a horse, which was never pleasant. Oh, don’t get him wrong. He adored Buttercup with all his heart. But spending half a day riding on her back was not fun. 

It was less fun, he noted blandly, now that they arrived at their destination and had found nothing of consequence. 

They were at the location of the most recent rebellion. Unlike the prior month, when the rebels had tried to take a mage tower, this was just an out of the way grain storage unit. It wasn’t even one used by royalty or even Nobility. It was used mostly by some Mixed and mostly magical towns, but also by a couple non-magical only villages. Of all locations, this one made the least sense. 

Not to mention there were no clues whatsoever. Whoever it was that was leading these rebellions clearly knew what they were doing. They covered their tracks expertly. Like they’d trained since birth to do such a thing.

The rebels also rarely got caught. But when they did…

Merlin grimaced as he looked over at the covered body a few feet away. They’d not moved it since the man had eaten the poison packet the rebels usually carried in their mouths to prevent capture. It was worrying. It meant that these men and women believed their cause was one worth dying over. It didn’t bode well for him or his father. Or the safety of Camelot as a whole. Righteous men often didn’t care who died in their crusades. His father was proof of that. 

He had looked over the body earlier, Gaius having trained him to look for certain signs of a magical or non-magical death. From what he could tell, the poison was a variant of nightshade, mixed with some other ingredients that led to death within moments, no hope of a cure. Gaius had noted the same thing, when he’d looked at the bodies brought back to Camelot. 

“I just don’t get it,” Merlin stated a moment later, rubbing his sore head absently. “Why here? It doesn’t make sense. We’ve checked for signs of a trap, so it’s not that. The castle is on high alert, knowing this could potentially be a ploy to weaken the castle defenses, which the rebels would likely have realized. There is no benefit to attacking this storage unit.”

“Maybe they’re trying to sabotage the food supply?” Arthur chimed in, also looking at the body with a frown. Merlin let out a noise of disagreement. He’d thought that too but ruled it out. 

“It’s not likely. Non-magical villages rely on this granary too, and almost no Nobility. The one thing we know for certain is that these rebels care about non-magical people and their rights. Their demands are always the same. They want my father to back down as king, to rescind his laws. Why attack something that would only hurt their own kind, too?”

Arthur hummed, leaning down to look at some upturned soil. Finding nothing interesting about it, the man finally shrugged and looked up at Merlin with a frown. 

“Maybe whatever they had wanted to achieve here was greater than their concern for lives lost.”

Hm. Perhaps. It still didn’t sit right with him. 

He was missing something. He knew he was. His father had sent him out to the last few rebel locations, but all had been the same. It was maddening. 

“Sire, a word?”

Merlin looked up at one of the Castle Mages he had brought, who was standing off to the side. He was a younger man, though older than Merlin himself. He’d been training the man for a while now. Merlin nodded tensely as the Mage approached him, whispering that they had found nothing at the granary, but were thinking of investigating the nearest town, to see if any rebels fled there. Merlin nodded, seeing the logic in the actions. 

“Alright. Report back to me when you are done. Send a smoke message if you find something. I shall do the same.”

The Mage nodded at that, before striding off, pace brisk as he headed to his destination. Merlin just watched as he went, unease stirring in his belly. 

He didn’t like this. Merlin had always hated being in the dark. It felt like he should know what was happening, but it just didn’t add up. The attacks were seemingly random, in all different parts of the kingdom. If it weren’t for the same execution of plans each time, he’d have thought them unconnected. But for each attack, there would be a group of non-magical users who stormed a place, who would begin chanting something about the Old Kingdom, and when soldiers or guards arrived, the rebels would flee. More often they all escaped, somehow. But when one did get caught, like the one from earlier, they’d bite into a capsule they held in their mouths and would die within moments. Usually, they’d mutter something like ‘long live the king.’ Which was incredibly baffling, unless they served a different king. But these people knew Camelot too well to be from another kingdom. 

Bah. He hated it. It didn’t add up. Why attack different locations? To spread Camelot’s resources thin? Perhaps. But the attacks weren’t frequent enough for that. Maybe once or twice a month. It made no sense. 

“They’re planning something,” he heard Arthur mutter under his breath. Merlin agreed. This was clearly a chess play. Moving pawns around the board, seemingly inept, until the last minute when their bishop stormed the castle and killed the king. 

“How’s your sister?” Merlin questioned, looking around for the girl. She’d gone off a couple minutes ago and was investigating herself. He hadn’t heard from her since. 

Arthur shrugged. “I think she mentioned going into a trance. Hone her powers.”

Hm. Perhaps she would See something. As much as Merlin feared foresight, if it could help them… well. They’d need all the help they could get. 

Merlin continued walking around the granary, his magic washing over every inch. He was trying to sense who had been there, how many, but it was too faint. He couldn’t pick up any real signatures. He figured there were at least fifty men, a couple more women, but he couldn’t tell if that was for the rebellion attack or if it was before then, the people just using the granary. 

He came across Morgana, though. She was sitting in the grass by the base of the building, eyes closed and moving rapidly under her eyelids. It was like she was dreaming, a nightmare plaguing her. Since she had joined the Mages, Merlin had been helping her focus her Foresight, so that it didn’t plague her even when she didn’t wear the bracelet the Druids had gotten her. He did not envy her. After all the trouble seeing the future had brought his father, he never wanted a glimpse at what might become. It terrified him. However, he couldn’t deny that it came in handy. 

As he thought this, Morgana began to scream, eyes still closed, breathing heavy. Ah, shit. Merlin jumped into action, muttering the spells he knew would help the girl awaken without causing her intense confusion and pain. He distantly noticed Arthur come rushing in, eyes bright as he looked around for the danger. Just as the man had reached the pair, Morgana’s eyes opened, breathing heavy and frantic. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! It’s okay Morgana, breathe. It was just a vision. It hasn’t happened yet,” Merlin soothed, rubbing careful circles on her back with his hand. She felt delicate under his fingers, though he knew the intense power she wielded. It was almost on par with his own, though she had more trouble channeling the power. Part of him, a selfish part, was almost afraid to help her reach her full potential. But he always pushed that fear away. Morgana was his sister’s lover. (And his love’s sister). He could trust her. 

“Oh, Merlin. It was horrible. I saw so much pain and death,” she breathed, sobbing now. Merlin reached forward and drew her into his arms, knowing she needed comfort right now. She held him tightly, while Merlin did his best to not throw up. Christ. What could she have seen to cause such a reaction? He hated foresight, he truly did. 

“Did you see any faces? Any clues as to who has done this?” Arthur questioned, kneeling down to put his hand on Morgana’s back. Morgana sniffled and shook her head, not removing it from the safety of his shoulder. Arthur began to ask another question, but Merlin shook his head sharply, making the other man close his mouth with a click. The time for questions would come. They first had to get the woman to calm herself. That was most important. 

It took a little while, Merlin adjusting somewhat once his bottom grew sore. Morgana mumbled an apology, face still buried in his chest, but he just shushed her. While he’d never had the terrible nightmares Morgana had, he had had a few dreams about future events. Mostly they were innocuous or silly, about a planned pastry heist by the kitchen staff, or a dog creating mischief. But sometimes… sometimes he’d see battles. Before they happened. They were always nebulous and distant, but still. It was terrible. 

He was lucky, though. He’d never seen the horrible things Freya would mutter that would wake Morgana at the small hours of the night, the woman whimpering with pain, even with her healing bracelet. It was worst when she woke while Freya was still transformed and couldn’t really help. 

Still. She eventually calmed, her tears drying but her frown not leaving. Tentatively, Merlin asked her some questions. 

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Morgana. But what did you see? Was it about the rebellions?”

Morgana nodded, pulling her legs up to her chest, hugging them. Arthur was now sitting on the ground beside her, his side pressed against hers. There were some guards milling around, giving them strange looks, but he didn’t care. He was the prince and Morgana was a Castle Mage. They could do whatever they damn well pleased. 

“It was awful. I saw a battle. A war. There was so much needless death… I couldn’t make out any faces, though I think I saw you and Arthur at the helm of it all. Leading the battle. The other side… they had so many warriors, swords and shields. Magic was useless against them. There was a leader. A man who stood tall amongst the others. I couldn’t see his face, I’m sorry. But he wore red, with golden accents.”

“The colors of the Old Kingdom,” Arthur muttered. Merlin just hummed. 

“It’s alright Morgana, you’ve been a lot of help. Did you see anything else?” 

Morgana paused, eyebrows furrowed, lips pulled downward. She shrugged. 

“Not much. Just death and destruction. Though…” she added a while later, before pausing again. Merlin just waited. Sometimes patience was key. He did prompt her after a minute passed and she seemed lost in her memories. She jolted, looking at him with wide, pale green eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I just thought I saw… but no,” she muttered, pushing her hair back, pulling herself tighter. Arthur sighed, growing impatient. Prat. 

“What did you see, Morgana? Tell us, please.” 

Morgana nodded, though her eyes were trained on Arthur. 

“I just thought that I saw, well... a dragon.”

A dragon? Hm. Well, dragons weren’t the most abundant breed, but they were around. His father commanded them. No, none of them appreciated being commanded to fight a human’s war, especially since the Great Dragon had publicly denounced his father, but they still listened to a Dragonlord regardless. Why would a dragon be a problem? 

He asked Morgana the same question, but she shook her head. 

“No, no. Not a real dragon. It was… well. A crest. I believe. A gold dragon on red background.”

Merlin felt his blood run cold at the words, gasping harshly. Arthur was staring at his sister, eyes carefully blank, but a frown tugging his lips down despite himself. 

Merlin had never spent much time pouring over the old family crests. Most of those families had been killed, the king executing them for treason following the Great Purge, as some called it. But he knew of this crest. Of the one Morgana had likely seen. 

“Pendragon,” he muttered, causing Morgana to whip around at him, eyes wide. 

“Y-you know the crest of Pendragon?” She questioned, voice trembling. Merlin nodded absently. Part of him wondered why Morgana knew of the House but pushed it aside. It was probably for the same reason Arthur knew of it. Stories. 

“Yeah. I know of it. Uther Pendragon is an enemy of Camelot. My father drove him and his family out years ago. But father could never find where the man had been hiding. We always hoped that he’d died along the way, but if you truly saw his crest…”

Then they had a problem on their hands. 

Morgana just shook her head, though, frantic. 

“No… no! Uther Pendragon is dead. As is his family. Everyone knows this.”

Merlin stared at the girl, eyes wide. What? Clearly, despite her insistence that everyone knew it, he certainly hadn’t. 

“How do you know? I’ve never heard about that. I’m sure father would have heard of that.” 

Morgana just shrugged, helplessly. 

“It’s just, just something I heard. Why would it be a problem, even if he weren’t? What did the Pendragons do?”

Hm. Merlin narrowed his eyes, not liking the too casual tone Morgana had adopted. It rubbed him wrong. He trusted Morgana, don’t get him wrong. She’d been wonderful with his sister, and all. But sometimes… sometimes she just looked like she was hiding something. Like now. He tried to push the unease down but couldn’t. 

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” was what he eventually replied with, voice a touch guarded, eyes harder than he wanted them to be. It was true, after all. He just didn’t usually care about revealing trade secrets with his friends. It was a bad habit of his that his father would be furious at, if he knew. 

Morgana clenched her jaw at that, eyes hardening. Merlin felt her magic swell, making his eyes widen. She reined it in a second later, pasting a too tight smile on her lips. 

“But of course, my prince. I, I shouldn’t have asked. I was merely curious. The Pendragons were a formidable household, back in the day, my parents taught me.”

She was hiding something. Morgana was a bad liar, her expressive face revealing everything she wanted to keep hidden. Merlin wanted to keep digging, to figure out why Morgana feared the Pendragon name, but he decided to let it lie. Perhaps he would ask later, or have Freya ask the girl. Freya wouldn’t betray her lover and Merlin wouldn’t ask her to. But if there was something going on…

He pushed the unease aside and smiled tenderly at Morgana. 

“Don’t worry, Morgana. It’ll all be fine. We should head back to the citadel. I doubt we’ll find anything else out here. The other Mages will keep looking, though, and inform us if they find anything.”

With that, Merlin stood, stretching to get the soreness from his muscles. The other two followed, Morgana smiling lightly, eyes distant. And Arthur…

Hm, the man looked troubled. Oh, he was clearly trying to play it off, joking around, but Merlin could see the tension in his eyes. In the way he held himself. He was unnerved by something that Morgana had said. Merlin had a funny guess it was something to do with Pendragon. 

But what? What connection did Arthur have with the Pendragon family? Did he… Merlin paused, his stomach dropping. Did he know the Pendragons? Maybe he did. It was possible. He’d have to ask. 

Later, he decided, as they saddled their horses and headed back to Camelot. It was a half day’s ride, so they’d be out passed dark. Luckily, they could use magic to light their way, but it still would be uncomfortably cold. At least it had stopped snowing. 

As the trio (along with a few guards to protect them; there were violent rebels around, after all) rode back, the group chattered lightly. Arthur couldn’t say much, since the guards were there, but it was known that the man and Morgana got along well enough, so he could interject at least a little. 

Finally, they arrived back at the castle, shivering and cold, but grateful to be inside. They had missed dinner while riding, so his father had meals sent up to their rooms. His and Morgana’s only, of course. While his father didn’t seem to hate Arthur, he didn’t really see him, either. 

It didn’t take him long to head up the countless stairways, but by the time he and Arthur had arrived, he was beyond exhausted. He was leaning against Arthur a bit, since his legs were aching from being in a cold saddle all day. 

As soon as the pair entered his rooms, he lit the fire with a thought, eyes flashing gold. He also lit the candles, to give them some extra light. Arthur grunted in appreciation, striding over to the spread of food his father had sent up. Merlin watched, half annoyed, half amused as Arthur began stuffing his face. 

“You do know that food is mine, right?” He commented lightly, tossing his cloak aside. Arthur rolled his eyes but didn’t pause in eating. Merlin shook his head with a fond smile and took a seat beside the man, grabbing some food for himself. 

The men ate in companionable silence for several minutes, the room growing pleasantly warm and cozy. By the time they both ate their fill, the food was nearly gone, and they were comfortably leaning back against their chairs. Arthur had his eyes closed, a small smile on his lips. Merlin hated himself, but he knew he had to ask his question. Don’t get him wrong, he trusted Arthur with his life. He had no doubt that the man would never betray him. But he had to know how Arthur knew the name Pendragon. 

“So,” Merlin began. Before Arthur could even open his eyes, he plowed on. It honestly might work in his favor to catch the servant unawares. Arthur was always more honest when he was caught off guard. “Pendragon.”

That got Arthur’s attention. Eyes shooting open, sitting up so abruptly he managed to knock his chair over, sending him sprawling to the ground. Oops. That wasn’t what he had meant. 

“Arthur! Are you alright?” Merlin cried, standing and heading over to help his servant stand. Arthur was cursing under his breath, rubbing the back of his head gingerly. Well, seemed the pair matched head injuries today. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just, you know. Didn’t expect you to say anything,” the man claimed, eyes darting away. He was lying, Merlin thought mildly. He never was able to look Merlin in the eye when he lied; at least, not when he lied badly. 

“You’re lying,” Merlin decided to point out. Arthur blanched, further proving his point. The man stubbornly refused to say anything, his jaw locking with a click. Great. 

“Look, Arthur. I can clearly tell you know something about the Pendragon family. Just tell me. Please? You know I’m not my father. I won’t have them killed. But I need to know if they’re a threat to us. Please, Arthur. I beg you.”

His eyes were round and beseeching, begging Arthur to listen to him. To tell him. To _trust him_. Minutes passed as Arthur stood, staring at the fire, eyes distant. Eventually, the man shook his head, slowly. Merlin felt his heart drop. 

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

Merlin felt anger rise in him. He didn’t know who towards. Who was Pendragon to him that he was so willing to keep him, or them, hidden? Did they mean more to the man than Merlin did? Or did Arthur not trust him? Merlin didn’t want to fight the Pendragon family. He just wanted to talk to them, see if they could come to a satisfactory conclusion. If they were indeed involved in this whole thing. 

“I could order you, you know,” Merlin threatened, before wincing at the glare Arthur gave. Alright. Probably not his smartest idea. He tried a different approach, grabbing Arthur’s hands and refusing to let go, even when the man unconsciously pulled away. Merlin held tight and looked Arthur in the eyes. “Look. Arthur. I just want peace in this kingdom. I just want to find whoever is leading these rebellions and talk to them. See if we can’t come to an agreement. Arthur-”

“You want peace?!” Arthur suddenly shouted, ripping his hands away, eyes ablaze. Merlin took a step back, eyes wide as he took in his servant’s rage. He’d never seen Arthur so angry before. Not in a long while, at least. Not directed towards him. What had angered him so much, so quickly? 

“How rich! You want _peace_ ,” Arthur hissed, spitting the words out. “Well, what about the thousands of innocent men and women your father had murdered, all for carrying a sword? The children, who had done nothing wrong, slaughtered for no reason? What did they want, Merlin? What did they want?!”

Merlin could say nothing as he stared, throat tight and throbbing. What could he say? Arthur was alit in his anger, panting, the fire dancing over his expression, making it seem so much darker. More deadly. Merlin couldn’t even make a proper comparison to what the man reminded him of, as cold as he was beginning to feel inside. Like a deadly viper, perhaps. Or the executioner’s ax, bearing down, angry and fierce above him. 

“That’s not fair, Arthur. I didn’t do any of that. I’m not my fath-” he tried to explain, but Arthur cut him off with a harsh laugh, more a forceful exhalation of air than anything humorous. It made Merlin’s stomach sink. 

“You say that, Merlin. That you’re not your father. Yet you express love for him. Devotion. Why? After all he has done, all he continues to do. You stand by and, and… watch. You don’t stop it. You don’t even try anymore. You just go along blindly. How are you not just as bad as him? How are you any different? I’ve been by your side for this past year and a half, hoping you’d be better than him. But all you’ve done is marched along, doing whatever he told you. So, tell me. How are you different? How are you not as responsible for his- for his crimes?” 

Arthur was breathing heavy now, his eyes distant and shiny as he ranted. Part of Merlin wondered if Arthur was even yelling at him. He wanted the man not to be, but deep inside… he knew the truth. He had to force down the sob that wanted to escape. A man didn’t cry every time someone was mean to them. Said things they didn’t want to hear. So, he squared his shoulders and looked at Arthur. Well. At approximately where Arthur stood. He couldn’t bring himself to look the man in the eye at the moment. His heart had frozen, and he felt so cold inside. The warm fire did nothing for the ice that had entered his soul with his servant’s words.

“I thought you understood, Arthur. I don’t like it. But what can I do? He’s my father!” Arthur scoffed, looking away with angry eyes. And suddenly... suddenly Merlin was furious, too. His ice gave way to fire and he marched over to Arthur, eyes alight with righteous rage. He pushed Arthur back and looked him in the eyes. “What would you have me do, then?! Go against him?! My own father, my only living family?! I can’t do that! I won’t! I love him, despite everything he has done!”

Arthur was glaring at him, anger radiating out, and just like that… his brief burst of anger left him, leaving him cold inside again. After all. Wasn’t that Arthur’s point? 

“I-I don’t know what to do, Arthur. I want to be a good person. I want to help people. But I have to follow my father’s laws. I’m bound by honor and duty and familial loyalty. I can’t just defy him. I…” tears filled his eyes against his will. “I _can’t_.”

Silence reigned after that, the boys panting in the room, like they’d run a thousand miles. Merlin looked up, eyes sad, at his friend. Arthur looked angry, still, but also chagrined. Like he hadn’t meant to be so callus. 

“Tell me, Arthur. What would you do? If it was your father. What would you do?”

He said it in a whisper, eyes insistent on Arthur. He watched as Arthur blanched again, face paling. It was cruel, Merlin knew. Arthur’s father was dead. But maybe then he could understand. Maybe then he could see the strain that Merlin was under. After all, who loved their father more than Arthur, who lived his life according to a ghost? 

“I-I-” Arthur started, eyes filling with sorrow. Merlin was concerned for a second, before Arthur looked up, such hatred in his eyes that it took Merlin’s breath away. “I wouldn’t know. Your father had him killed. So how could I possibly know?”

With that, Arthur turned away, staring into the fire, face shut down. 

Oh. Oh. He hadn’t…

He hadn’t realized, he thought, dazed, as he took a blind seat on a chair behind him. He landed at an angle, his bottom complaining at the harsh treatment, but he didn’t care. He was so cold inside. 

He hadn’t realized how much anger and hatred Arthur still felt towards him. He knew the man hated his father. Knew the man was bitter and angry about the laws and rules his father commanded. Merlin was too, though he was far less vocal. He just hadn’t realized Arthur blamed him as well as his father. 

Though… though, a voice whispered, deep within him. How could he blame the man? After all, he was right. Merlin knew his father was wrong. That his father did horrible things. But he…

He did nothing. 

Did that not make him just as bad? Just as responsible? Merlin had always assumed that once he became king, he’d make things right. He’d be kinder, more just. But what if he couldn’t afford to wait? What if, with his inaction, things were becoming so strained that no compromise could ever be enough? The rebellions proved that. These were men and women prepared to die for their cause. As his father said, even if he showed mercy now, would they ever believe him? Would they trust he meant well? God. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t…

“Merlin,” he heard a voice mutter, sounding regretful. Merlin didn’t dare look up. He couldn’t. He put his head in his hands, fingers pulling his hair harshly, eyes shut tight against the tears that wanted to spill. God. How had they come to this? They’d been having a nice meal not ten minutes before. 

Merlin wondered, yet again, who the Pendragons were to his friend. Who they were that he was so fiercely protective of them? This has all started after he’d brought the family up. They must mean a great deal to Arthur to get him to be this harsh. Arthur wasn’t a cruel man by nature, though he could be prone to fits of anger. Usually it was righteous rage, so it must mean he felt he was in the right. 

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed again, kneeling before him on the ground. Merlin tensed but didn’t look up. He just gripped his hair tighter, rocking slightly to try and make the angry voices in his head stop. The voices of people who watched their loved ones get executed, full of sorrow and intense pain. The voices of those damned, eyes alight in rage as they stared, defiant, at his father. At _him_ , he amended, as he was often there, watching. Silent. Doing nothing. 

He felt gentle hands touch his hands, gripping them gently as Arthur pulled them carefully away from his face. Merlin didn’t look up, though, so a second later he felt a warm palm cup his cheek, tipping his face up to a sorrowful face. Merlin fought down the lump in his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur stated, eyes boring into Merlin’s. He found he couldn’t breathe at the intensity. “I shouldn’t have said all that. You’re right. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t even really mean it. I don’t blame you. I just… I don’t know. I don’t know.”

The words were soft, eyes full of confusion and emotions that Merlin couldn’t make out. He had no idea what to say. 

“I just…” Arthur began, before stopping, letting out a harsh breath. He breathed in deeply again, and looked up at Merlin, eyes hard. “Look. Please believe me when I say the Pendragons have nothing to do with this. They mean you no harm. Just… leave them alone. Please.” 

And there it was. The Pendragons, again. The people who somehow had gained such fierce loyalty from his servant. At least it confirmed that Arthur knew the family. And if he promised they meant him no harm… 

“Alright. Alright, Arthur. I… I trust you. Foresight is often tricky. It’s possible that Morgana saw… saw an old banner. Or the Pendragons simply were in the area during a battle. Or maybe it wasn’t the Pendragon crest at all, just a similar one. I don’t know. But I will trust you. If you say they mean no harm… I will not push the issue. I will not continue this line of search. I won’t even bring it up with my father, if Morgana doesn’t. I will trust you. But, Arthur... if you are wrong. If the Pendragons are responsible and by doing nothing, more lives get lost…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence. He honestly had no idea what he would do. Arthur just shook his head, fierce, eyes bright. 

“They aren’t. I know they aren’t. Trust me.”

That, Merlin thought bitterly, was the problem. He did trust Arthur. But was Arthur’s trust in the Pendragon family founded? He had no clue. He’d trust Arthur. He trusted the man with his life. But he didn’t know if he could trust the Pendragon family. Not after all he had seen as a child with his father’s nightmares. Late at night, when Merlin would sneak into Gaius’s room for his own comfort, watching with wide eyes as he hid and watched his father tremble with the burden of the futures he saw. The way the usually proud and strong man would look so broken. Gaius would usually put up a silencing charm to prevent Merlin from hearing, but he could see. He saw how his father trembled and shook. Saw what the futures he had witnessed had done to him. 

And the Pendragon household was at the crux of it all. He knew that. He didn’t know how. Didn’t know why. But he’d bet his life that they had something to do with this whole thing. 

But... but he’d push his unease aside. He’d ignore his suspicions. Because Arthur asked him to. 

He just hoped it wouldn’t be his doom. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Arthur was freaking out. He was in Gaius’s quarters again, Morgana sitting beside the older man, drinking some calming tea. Arthur was pacing, mind racing as he forced Morgana to go over what she saw one more time. Morgana rolled her eyes. The tea had worked wonders and she didn’t look as terrified at the whole thing anymore. Gaius had tried to get him to drink some tea, but he refused. He needed to be awake and aware for this all. 

“Give it a rest, Arthur. You’re not going to gain any more information from my vision even if I say it a million times. I’ve told you all I can remember. I promise I’m not keeping anything from you,” she claimed, rolling her eyes yet again. Arthur scowled and glared at her. 

“Just. Go over it one more time. Please,” he spat out, trying to sound nicer but unable to. He couldn’t get his conversation with Merlin out of his head, his body strung tight and taut as he went over and over the angry, embittered words. 

The crux of it all was that he knew Merlin was suspicious of the Pendragon house. Thank God he had never given away his family name and had asked Gwaine, once, to be careful to not reveal it. Gwaine had been confused, like everyone was, but had agreed. At least now Merlin had no reason to suspect him of anything. 

Not that he was doing anything, mind. He would never betray Merlin. And, despite his angry words earlier, he didn’t really blame the man for the crimes of his father. After all. He had learned just the night before that, had life gone differently, he might have been in the exact same boat. 

Which may have been part of the reason for his anger, he would later concede, when thinking back on it all. At the moment, his mind was racing too much as he tried to figure out why Morgana had seen the Pendragon crest in her vision. After all, he hadn’t worn his family crest... ever, really. He’d only seen pictures of it, briefly. 

Morgana sighed heavily, beyond frustrated at his actions. Well, whatever. He had to know. 

“I’ve told you a million times, Arthur! I saw a battlefield. I don’t recall anyone’s faces. I assume you and Merlin were on one side of the battle, as the bodies looked kind of like yours, but I can’t say for sure. On the other side was a man. He stood tall and proud. There was nothing about him that gave away his identity, as his face was blurred. He wore simple armor with red and gold accents. Then the vision cut to a figure wearing a blood red cloak with the Pendragon crest on it. All I saw was their back, no indication as to who wore it. Then I saw a field of dead bodies, wearing uniforms; some red, some blue and purple, some wearing everyday peasant clothing. There was a battle, magic being hurtled towards the men with swords, but it was like none of it hit. I don’t know why. After that was when Merlin woke me from my trance, and I saw nothing more. That’s all I remember. I swear.”

Arthur growled, frustrated. It made no sense. Why would there be a figure wearing red on the other side of the battlefield? Why was the Pendragon crest there? Who wore it? Was it him? Why would he do that? Why-

“Perhaps it would be best to forget about the vision,” Gaius chimed in, causing Arthur to glare at him. The older man just rolled his eyes and sighed. “I told you this already, Arthur. Foresight is not something to be trifled with. It often is not what it seems. These images that Morgana saw might not even be connected in the slightest. It’s even possible she didn’t see the future, at all, but the past. That’s the problem with foresight; you can never know what you are seeing. Not truly.”

“Not until it comes true,” Morgana added, voice bitter. She held tighter to her cup of tea, staring blankly into its contents. Arthur felt his heart go out to her. After all, he remembered the long months when she’d been eighteen, when she suffered nightly due to nightmares. Before that she had only had the occasional nightmare, but this had been constant, making her get no restful sleep at all. It wasn’t until his mother sent a letter to an old friend (who, he had learned over the past year, had actually been _Gaius_ , go figure) and received the information that it might have been visions of the future that Morgana was seeing. After that they had contacted Druids, who had taken her away to help her learn how to control her power, giving her a healing bracelet that would prevent visions she didn’t want to see. 

He knew, objectively, that the power was horrible. He had still envied her, somewhat, back then. After all, she had _magic_ , which in this world, meant that she had _worth_. Now, as he looked at his half-sister, who looked so distant and pained, he didn’t envy her. If he could see the future… he shuddered at the very thought. 

Still…

“I don’t get it, though,” was what he finally said, sitting down at the table at last. Morgana rolled her eyes again. 

“No one ‘gets it,’ Arthur. That’s why it’s a fearsome power. The visions often don’t make sense, not until the event happens. And Gaius is right. They often don’t occur as expected. I don’t know who the figure in red was. There’s no reason to jump to conclusions.”

Arthur swallowed, looking down. Everything in him was swirling around, like a hornet’s nest. He’d already had such conflicting thoughts and feelings from his conversation with Gaius the day before. Thinking of his father in the abstract. What he could have been, in another world. Thinking of him, now…

“Could it have been him?” Arthur whispered, almost against his will. Morgana froze, eyes staring daggers into her cup. A moment passed, before she shrugged. 

“I don’t know, Arthur. Your mother… she always said he ‘went away.’ She never said he had died. I never thought much of it, but… well, after my parents died, I was brought to your home by an old family friend. What I never knew was why they thought to bring me to your house. Yes, I knew you in passing. But your house would not have been my first choice. But, perhaps…” Morgana trailed off, eyes distant. Probably remembering those first few days. 

They had been challenging, he remembered that much. He had known of Morgana but hadn’t ever known she was his sister. She was just the girl who would visit every so often, usually by herself but sometimes with her mother. It would be awkward, their mothers tense around each other for reasons that were obvious now, but it hadn’t been awful. He got to spend time around Morgana, who he liked a lot more before learning they were siblings. 

Arthur hadn’t had many friends back then, either. Most of the boys in the village had annoyed him, though he would eventually befriend some of them. Morgana had been decent company, at the time. When learning they were siblings... it had made things awkward and tense. 

But Morgana had a point. His mother had always said that she had taken Morgana in because she couldn’t bear the thought of the girl being raised by people she didn’t know. Yet, surely there were other family friends who could have taken her in? He’d assumed that it was because his mother knew she was his sister, that she wanted them to be together. But that wasn’t the story she went with. His mother was always very careful with her words, speaking with meaning in each syllable. Perhaps…

“Why would he never come to us, then? If he were, you know. Alive. Why…” Arthur muttered, eyes dark as he looked at the wall. 

“I don’t know, Arthur. We know nothing about the man. Who knows why he would do anything? If he’s even still alive. There’s no way to know.”

Arthur bit his lip, thinking. 

“Could you try again? To scry for the future, or whatever,” he questioned, eyes on Morgana. He saw the way she jolted, eyes wide as she shook her head frantically. 

“No, Arthur. I can’t. You don’t know what it’s like, seeing these… these _visions_ , ” she spat out, the word like venom on her lips. “I can’t see anymore. Besides, I might not even see anything important.”

“But you might, if you tried,” Arthur countered, frustration mounting. He understood her fears, honestly, he did. But this was important. Surely this was more important than the discomfort? 

Morgana didn’t seem to think so. She slammed her calming tea down (clearly it wasn’t doing its job, he mused sardonically) and glared at him. 

“I will not, Arthur Pendragon, and that is final. Don’t keep pestering me or I’ll- I’ll… turn you into a toad!” 

Arthur reeled back, mild offense rising in him. Well, he never. 

“Fine! Fine. I just wanted… because Merlin thinks it is. Him. He’s suspicious of the Pendragon household. Which, I should remind you, _we both are part of_. If he ever finds out…”

“Well, he won’t. After your and Gaius’s insistence, I’ve even kept our family name secret, even from Freya. As long as you don’t tell him, he should never be able to find out, so it should be fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is late. I wish to retire before Freya transforms. Thank you for the tea, Gaius,” Morgana stated, smiling sweetly at Gaius as she kissed his cheek tenderly. She didn’t spend a lot of time around the older man, but she was fairly fond of him. A fondness the older man, for god knew what reason, returned. Gaius smiled at Morgana and kissed her cheek lightly as well, asking her to give the Lady Freya his love. Agreeing, Morgana left the room, not even bothering to wish him goodnight. Rude. 

Finally, the room was empty of those who didn’t live there. Gaius had had a patient earlier, but the man been well enough to go home, rather than stay there. It was relieving. It had been far too long of a day. 

“What do you think, Gaius?” Arthur questioned, long minutes later, staring into the fire. He didn’t even bother explaining what he meant. Gaius seemed to know regardless. The older man sighed and shook his head. 

“I don’t know, my boy. I’ve known your father for a very long time. If he were alive, I doubt anyone who he didn’t want to know about it, would indeed know. And, before you ask, if he were alive, I have no doubt that he stayed away to keep you and your family safe. The Great Dragon helped him greatly as you three fled the castle, giving him the power to alter memories to make people forget he ever married your mother and had you. He did that to keep you both safe, despite his mistrust for magic. I doubt he’d risk that for anything.” 

It made sense. It was logical. It was likely and shouldn’t mean anything negative. 

Still, the thought that his father was alive… and that he never tried to contact him…

It hurt, he supposed. He’d spent so many years, so very many, trying to live up to his father’s memory. To be the man his father would have wanted him to be. He’d done it on the offside chance that maybe, someday, he’d meet the man. But he’d never actually, you know… figured he truly would. He had grown to assume, after so many years had passed and he had never met the man, that his father was dead. Maybe he hadn’t been when he ‘went away,’ as his mother called it. But he had died, somewhere along the way. Why else would he never visit? Why else would he stay away for so long? 

And yes. Yes, he understood Gaius’s words and his assessment for _why_. He understood that his father would want to keep them all safe. It made sense. 

It didn’t stop the hurt. The pain. The part of him that was still that little boy, so desperate for his father’s love that he ripped every part of himself up and turned it into something that might, possibly, be desired by the man. He had wanted to know his father for so long. It was like a hole was inside him, unable to be filled. To think, all along, he could have known the man… could have been raised by him…

Who would he have been, he wondered? Had he been raised by both mother and father? Would he be better than he currently was? Would he be worse? 

But, he figured, as he finally nodded at Gaius, trying to get that sorrowful look that the older man was giving him off his face, it didn’t matter. Like Gaius had said, the previous night. What might have been, what could have been… it didn’t have any affect, here. In this time, in this world, his father had been gone. Whether dead or staying away to keep them safe, it mattered not. Arthur had been raised, alone, by Ygraine Du Bois, in the small farming village Fayford. He had had an older half-sister, numerous friends, and a potential paramour who he fought for the affections of. He came to Camelot, wishing to solicit more grain so his people wouldn’t starve, and had ended up saving a prince’s life, getting forced into servitude by the king as a ‘reward.’ He had come to love said prince, even as he tried desperately hard not to. He was destined to become the Once and Future King, to unite Albion and become the greatest king the lands had ever known. 

And he’d done it, all of it, striving to please a man he had feared was dead. 

And now, as he sat in the room that had become home, he was starting to wonder if the man was, actually, dead. 

And now… now, he had no idea what he should feel. There was a time he’d have been ecstatic, immediately setting out to find the man, heedless of the consequences. 

However… however, if his father was alive, he realized with mounting horror, and Morgana’s vision was true, then that meant… that meant they would be on opposing sides of the upcoming battle. Whatever battle that may be. His stomach clenched so fiercely at the thought. 

For so long he’d desired to be the man his father would be proud of. To think they would be on opposing sides of a nebulous, upcoming battle… 

He supposed it came down to who he chose to follow. Did he stay with Merlin? Or did he go with his father? Morgana’s vision claimed he’d stay with Merlin. Stay by the man’s side, fight with him. 

Did he have to agree? Was his future already predetermined; was he just a pawn? He had hoped that the future was his own making. That he had the luxury of making his own choices. But this wasn’t his choice. The choice had been ripped from him. If he stood by Merlin’s side in whatever battle Morgana saw, he’d just be following a script. A predetermined future, helpless to fight against it. 

Could he break the script? Would that be better? Would it make things worse? How the hell could he know? He wanted to know his father. He didn’t want to fight him! 

If his father was alive, then that meant… that meant his father was the one causing these rebellions. So much death, destruction. People willingly dying for the cause. 

“Arthur,” Gaius muttered softly, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. He startled badly, dislodging the hand, eyes wide as he looked up at the older man. Gaius stood and moved over to where Arthur sat, kneeling down before him, making only a slight grunt of discomfort, and took his hands. 

“Whatever it is you are thinking, whatever it is that is causing such a pained and grief stricken look on your face… I ask you, is it important? You know your destiny. You know your present. Does the future Morgana saw matter so much that you will forget those things?”

Arthur looked away from Gaius, hands tightening. He didn’t know. He had no idea. 

“I don’t know,” he muttered, eventually, when the silence grew too stifling. “I don’t know.” 

Gaius sighed, shaking his head. 

“Whatever comes to pass, it was meant to be. As I’ve said, you can’t alter the future. It will always happen, one way or another. Destiny is strong, it will bring about the future it is heading towards. One way, or another.”

Well, maybe Arthur was sick of destiny! Ever since he had come to this godforsaken city, all he had heard about was his fucking destiny! Did he have no choice? No options, no decisions? Was he just a slave to fucking… _destiny_?!

Arthur stood, abruptly, causing Gaius to teeter back. Arthur had a second to feel remorseful but pushed passed it as he paced the too small space. 

“I don’t know, Gaius. I. Don’t. Know. I just want to live my life. Is that too much to ask?! I accepted that I would be the Once and Future King, I did! But now… now, I might have to fight my own _father_?! To go against him?! How can I do that?! How can I choose against my own family?! For what, for Merlin?! For this kingdom?! Why?! Why do I have to make that choice?! Tell me Gaius! Why?!” 

He felt so off inside. So wrong. So many things had happened lately. So many new and confusing things. He didn’t want to fight his father. He wanted to know the man. To talk with him. He didn’t want to be on opposing sides of a battlefield. 

Merlin hated his family. Arthur could see that. If Merlin found out, who he was… who his father was… would Merlin still trust him? But his family was such a big part of himself. That’s why he took on the name Pendragon, even as his mother changed her own. That’s why he always felt such pride at the thought of his Noble heritage. He adored his family, his father. The image of his father that he had, at least. 

He hated this. He had come to terms with this all the previous night. Had accepted it. And now? Now he was lost again. 

Did he follow destiny, no matter what? Even if it brought him against the ones he loved? Or could love, if given the chance?

He watched with dispassionate eyes as Gaius stood and approached him. Arthur knew he’d have more words to say. Comfort and love. Trying to settle his mind. But Arthur didn’t want that. He wanted…

He wanted, he realized, to be with Merlin. To hold the prince. To tell him he loved him, no matter the cost. He wanted to go into the prince’s room, to lie on that too soft bed, and fall asleep to the soft snores the man let out when he slept. To hold Merlin and forget about the future. Just for a little while. Just for the night. 

But, he thought mirthlessly, shaking his head violently when Gaius opened his mouth. He couldn’t do that. Merlin wasn’t his to hold. He had no right. Gwaine had that right, had received what he desired but could never possibly have. And maybe Merlin would leave Gwaine for him. Would hold him as tightly and sweetly as he’d always desired, even from the first moment he had run into the man, all those months ago. If he just asked. 

The prince wouldn’t know, though. The truth. Who Arthur was. And if he did, he’d never trust him, not fully. Not if he knew Arthur was a Pendragon. And relationships were built on trust. He knew that much. So, he’d have to hide. But how could he hold Merlin while keeping part of himself away? How could Merlin know his true identity without feeling distrust and unease? 

“I wish this had never happened,” Arthur muttered, so painfully tired. He wanted to sleep for years, to sleep right passed his damned destiny. Gaius hummed, nodding solemnly. 

“Many who have had such a severe destiny as yours often have, my boy. I will never envy you for the weight on your shoulders. I can only hope that these old shoulders of mine might be able to bear even a hint of that weight, to prevent it from destroying you.”

Arthur smiled a tired smile at Gaius, taking a seat on a chair by the fire, too tired to keep pacing. Gaius shuffled over and sat beside him, staring into the flame. It was companionable. Nice. Safe. 

Several minutes passed before Gaius spoke again. 

“What will happen, will happen, my dear boy. All you can do now, I fear, is to do what you believe is right. Don’t worry about the future. Don’t even worry about your destiny. Just do what you, in your heart of hearts, feel is truly and utterly right. Trust yourself, Arthur, as I trust you. Only then will the future unfold. However it is meant to unfold. Man cannot know where his future lies, even if he looks into a crystal a million times. Doing so will drive him into madness. Destiny is one thing; it is only a possibility. It is not absolute.”

“You say that, and yet I’m supposed to fulfill my destiny. How can both exist at the same time?” Arthur interjected, so very tired. Gaius shrugged, placing a warm hand on Arthur’s. Arthur just stared at it, unseeing. 

“That, my dear boy, is up to you. Destiny is a winding path. It leads to one outcome, but the path it takes can go through many possibilities. Destiny can take months, or destiny can take decades. It will come about, one way or another, if the destiny is strong enough. But the road it leads is of your own making. I promise you that, Arthur. I promise you that.” 

Arthur nodded, absently. It was too much for him. He wanted to sleep. Smiling tightly at his guardian, Arthur stood, slowly, carefully. He wished the man a good night, then headed up the stairs to his room and closed the door. Once there, he leaned his head against the splintered wood, trying to gather his thoughts.

_Fucking destiny_.

Sighing, Arthur shook his head. What would be, would be. What wouldn’t be, wouldn’t be. Who was he to fight against it? To fight the future the universe so desperately wanted. He was just a servant. Just a child, practically. How could he fight destiny? Should he even try? 

He didn’t know. It was too much. 

The one thing he knew, above all else. Above everything. Above his father, and Camelot, and _becoming king_? 

Was that he wanted to do it-

All of it-

With Merlin at his side. 

He wondered what it said about him that he believed that so fiercely? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what do y'all think??? Is Uther alive???? Only time will tell.....
> 
> ;-) 
> 
> Also, someone commented a couple chapters ago that Arthur spends more time worrying about destiny than Merlin did, in the show. I hadn't realized that while writing, but damn, he really does, doesn't he??? I think it's because, while this story is a role reversal fic, I add a lot of my personal opinions of the canon show in my writing. So I just talk about how destiny is kind of F-ed up, and that just ended up with Arthur musing about it a lot more than he probably would. Though, Arthur in canon always was the kind to take things very seriously, so who knows??? As for his problems with the alternate future, I do think that if Arthur knew that his father might have done the things he did in canon, while experiencing the indignation that being on the flip side of that is like, he'd be horrified. I mean... spoilers for the show, but he straight up almost killed Uther when he learned that Uther was a hypocrite. So... yeah. 
> 
> Next chapter has another time skip, by the by. Not as long as the last one, but it was just a way to get the plot moving without getting too caught up in pointless details. I am going to be doing this really intense scavenger hunt next week called GISH, which will take up a lot of my time, so I can't guarantee I'll be able to post on time. I'll do my best, though! Worse case, next Sunday at the latest, I swear.


	20. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _~~~We all are living in a dream_   
>  _But life ain't what it seems_   
>  _Oh everything's a mess_   
>  _And all these sorrows I have seen_   
>  _They lead me to believe_   
>  _That everything's a mess_
> 
> _But I wanna dream_   
>  _I wanna dream_   
>  _Leave me to dream~~~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!!! 
> 
> So, sorry this is late! As I said last chapter, I was busy last week, and ended up not having much time. So, I didn't win the contest I entered, but that's cool. I did have fun with the scavenger hunt, though, so that was nice! 
> 
> As for this chapter... a warning for Gwaine fans, I kind of give him the short end of the stick in this chapter, but please know I will put an explanation in the end notes, and do know that he will be seen again and things will work out with him. 
> 
> Anyway... Thanks for the comments and reviews! I appreciate them!! :-D Also! The chapter title comes from the song
> 
> [_Dream, by Imagine Dragons_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oV4hnsTJs5c&list=PLOV76J4b4cmiMIZrwhX1VmsnE89VeTnMu&index=6&t=0s) It's a great song, if you've not heard it. :-D 
> 
> Enjoy!

The following two months were some of the hardest months of Merlin’s young life. And that was saying something. 

Practically every day he attended court, now, his father growing more and more distant and concerned as more reports came in. It often wasn’t major attacks, even. It was little things. Goods caravans getting hijacked on their routes. Sorcerer houses in Mixed villages getting covered in red and gold paint. Major trade roads getting trenches dug into them. None of it was anything that couldn’t be easily fixed. There were no deaths, so far, but a lot of hassle and vandalism. It was unclear if these actions were being done by the same group or not. 

His father believed so. The attacks were steadily rising in number, from once every other week, to once every other day. And it was all over the kingdom. From their southernmost villages to their northern most strongholds. If the attacks were done by a single group, clearly their cause was widespread. 

Merlin had no idea what to do. He’d been sent out to all corners of the kingdom, his father entrusting him to find a solution. It was pretty much the first time since he’d been crowned crown prince that he had truly been tested, discounting the time his father had nearly died. Besides, he’d pretty much failed that test, Arthur saving him, and his father more than he did, so this was the time to prove himself. To prove he was worthy of the crown he wore. Worthy of the crown his father would one day pass on to him. 

And he was failing. He often didn’t even have time to sit down in his room after a long day’s ride before being called into Court, to discuss the next attack. And every time, everywhere he went, he found the same thing. 

Nothing. 

There were no tracks. No clues. He did his best to sense, to try and figure out who was responsible, but it often didn’t work. He’d find too many contrasting variables, or mixed signals. His powers were failing him, and he hated it. 

Worst of all, to him at least, was the distance that was growing between him and Arthur. Oh, neither of them was doing it on purpose, he was sure. But Merlin had such little time alone anymore. He was constantly surrounded by people; be it guards or Castle Mages. And he couldn’t talk to Arthur as much as he longed to when others were around. When home, he had barely enough time to eat before being yanked into a different direction, leaving him wane and thin. Most of his free time, pathetic amount that there was, was spent practicing his magic, needing to build it up enough to not fail his father or his kingdom. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

He wasn’t enough. 

Almost as bad, or maybe equally so, was the fact he had almost no time to write Gwaine. He’d explained early on that he was being stretched thin and that he was so, so sorry for his short replies, but he felt it wasn’t enough. Gwaine was sweet and said it was fine, often offering sympathy, but Merlin knew the man was upset by it. He was probably privately rooting for the rebels, too, Merlin would muse bitterly. Gwaine never wrote it, never even indicated it, but Merlin was sure of it. After all, he knew Gwaine fairly well, the pair being in a pseudo relationship for over a year. He still hated royalty and nobility, even though he made an exception for Merlin. It made things awkward and strained between them, and Merlin was a second away from ending the whole thing. He still loved Gwaine, don’t get him wrong. But he had no time for anything. For anyone. 

Not even Freya. 

That hurt him a lot, too. He rarely got to see the girl. She would usually stay home when he’d go out, the king not seeing reason for her to be involved. He honestly spent more time with Morgana than anyone else, as she had quickly become his right-hand man. Or, well. Woman. He’d spend hours talking to her, pouring over plans and ideas. He honestly trusted her almost as much as he trusted Arthur, at this point. 

All in all, he was feeling insanely stressed out and pulled tight. Never, in all his years of being a prince, had things been quite so hard. And nothing had really even happened yet. A few spontaneously painted houses, a couple holes in a road. What did it matter, in the end? It was all so random. So unconnected. 

“Maybe that’s the point,” Arthur had pointed out, a couple weeks ago. “If I were trying to hide something, I’d hide it in a bunch of seemingly innocuous events. What we need to figure out is what the lowest common denominator is.”

Which, yes. Thank you, Arthur. Merlin was a complete moron who hadn’t _already bloody figured that out._ He _knew_ he had to find what the events had in common. Or else figure out what they didn’t have in common so he could figure out their similarity through their differences. If that made _any sense whatsoever_. 

The _problem_ was that he had no idea how to do that! He’d almost snapped at Arthur when he had said that, one thread away from snapping and losing his sanity entirely. He’d just settled on glaring daggers at the man, forcing Arthur to put his hands up in a sign of peace, muttering an apology. 

He knew he was being difficult and a horrible person to be around. But he had no idea what to do. He was just so very afraid. He’d never felt so powerless before. All his life he’d been commended for his power, even as a toddler. And yet, for all that power, here he was. Nothing to show for it. His kingdom was at risk and he had no idea how to save it. 

It was enough to drive him to insanity. He had no relief. Gaius had been making him calming potions and teas, but it was a salve. A balm on a gaping wound. He’d get relief for a couple hours before bed, and then wake up to a fresh hell. It was unending. All encompassing. If something didn’t happen soon, for better or for worse, he was going to fucking _snap_.

It was a cold late February day when things finally reached their boiling point. 

He’d just come back from his most recent trip, Buttercup whinnying horribly as she was forced to march through cold slush, the snows turning to frigid rain. It was nearing sunset (or so he assumed, though the sky was almost pitch black with rain clouds), Arthur riding silently beside him, the guard stonily bringing up the rear. They’d been sent out to a nearby western town, where a prized cow had been slaughtered and covered in red and gold paint. The cow had been owned by a warlock, though a low level one. The man had been furious, yelling at Merlin, asking how he was going to make his potions now. Merlin, two seconds away from cursing the man into oblivion, had smiled tensely and promised to send two cows in compensation. When the warlock had tried to argue he should receive three, since old Gertrude had produced more milk than two measly cows, Arthur had had to practically drag him away before he committed murder. 

It had honestly been the first death, so far. The rebels had, until that point, kept mostly to vandalism and low-level crime. It wouldn’t have been worrying if it wasn’t so organized. This? This meant they were increasing their ante. It wasn’t much now, a simple cow, but who knew how long until they started killing people, too? 

Part of him had wanted to, naively, hope that it wasn’t done by the rebel group (he was privately calling them the Dragons. No reason, honest), but his vain hopes had been dashed when he’d entered the pen. It had the exact same feeling as the other scenes. 

What tipped him over the edge, however, was how, not even a minute after dismounting Buttercup, a guard had run up to him and informed him his father wanted to see him. 

As he stormed through the castle, magic swirling around him like a storm cloud, making every magical person he came across dart out of his way, he wondered what it was now. After all. It was always something. 

Entering the courtroom, Merlin had a second to breathe, to take in a merciful breath of air. And then he saw his father, face like stone, and everything came crumbling around him. 

“There have been reports of an attack on a village. There is no word on how many dead, but the number is likely great. I’ve dispatched the army, but there is no saying if they will get there in time. We are on high alert, locking down the citadel. No one is allowed in or out except for an emergency. I want you to head into the lower town and make sure everyone has enough supplies for several days of lock down. We are also instigating a curfew. Everyone must be inside by sundown.”

Merlin felt his knees weaken and would have collapsed had he not forced himself out of it. It wasn’t like they’d never attacked before. His father had waged countless wars in his 20-year reign, forcing the city into lockdown at least once every other year. But this? 

This felt different. Worse. Because they had no idea what they were up against. Because they didn’t have a single clue as to who was causing this whole thing. 

(Well, actually, that was a lie. Merlin _did_ have a clue as to who was behind all of this. But he’d promised his fucking servant that he’d not chase that line of inquiry, even though everything inside of him _screamed_ to pursue it. He trusted Arthur. He did. He _did_.) 

“I understand, father. I will ride out there in the morning, to-”

“No!” His father boomed, startling Merlin backwards, bumping into Arthur, who had apparently been standing silently behind him. Huh. He hadn’t even noticed. 

“No,” his father repeated, calmer. “No one is to exit the citadel. It is unsafe. I will send some remote Mages to assess the scene, to determine the proper cause of action. I want you to stay here and keep an eye on the citizens. Keep the peace. Try and sniff out any sympathizers. I want a full sweep of castle servants, to ensure we have no traitors in our midst.”

At his words, Merlin felt Arthur tense from where he was still pressed up against the other. Merlin took a step away, though he wondered what the action had meant. If he was just concerned, as any servant would be. Or if he had an actual reason to feel concern. 

But… _no_. He trusted Arthur. With his life. 

Didn’t he? 

This wasn’t the time, he thought fiercely, even as he nodded his ascent to his father. 

“Of course, father. I will head out at once.”

With that, he nodded respectfully at the king and turned to exit, Arthur following silently behind him, like a ghost. He valiantly ignored the rumbling in his stomach and headed into the lower town, frigid rain pouring over him. 

By the time he had made the sweep of the area, getting complaints and handling the fear that was bubbling up, it was long passed nightfall and the start of their new curfew. Almost all of the citizens in the citadel were magical in some way, shape, or form. The news of the rebellions, though his father had tried to stifle them, had gone around. Now, the citizens of the city were terrified, wondering what they were doing to stop the ‘monsters.’ Merlin had felt Arthur tense again when an older woman had used the term, though he’d pushed aside his unease. After all, he had disliked the term as well. The rebels weren’t monsters, he felt. Just desperate people trying to be heard. 

Now, however… now that they’ve attacked, likely killed… it was reaching the point of no return. They wouldn’t be able to afford the rebels any mercy, whatsoever, even if Merlin kind of wanted to. His father would never have agreed in the first place, but now there was no chance. They’d have to eradicate the entire enterprise. 

“How do you kill a virulent weed, Merlin?” His father had asked him once, when he’d been very, very young. Merlin had thought about it intensely, before giving up and asking for the answer. His father had smiled, but it hadn’t been a good smile. A kind smile. “You burn it until it is ash. That way it will never grow again.” 

He thought of that now. He hadn’t understood, at the time. He did now. 

He did now. 

But the problem with burning a weed to the ground, he thought as he entered the castle, body weighed down by water as his mind was weighed down with fear, was that nothing would ever be able to grow in that area again. It would be infertile for any other life, for some time yet.

Merlin marched on; eyes distant as he tried to keep a handle on his powers. He felt like he was about to explode, one second away from a catastrophe. He was so lost and confused; so helpless. No prince with the power he wielded should be so powerless. He could do nothing. 

He was nothing. 

“Here, sire. Let me grab your cloak,” he heard Arthur mutter to him. Merlin looked up in shock as he realized he had arrived at his rooms. He’d been so lost in his head that he hadn’t even realized he’d made it. He numbly allowed Arthur to grab his soaked cloak, the servant folding it and placing it neatly in the hamper by the door. Arthur then proceeded to help him strip off the wet shirt and trousers he was wearing, tutting when Merlin let out a soft noise of protest. 

“Please. It’s my job. Let me help,” the man muttered softly, voice next to his ear, making him shudder lightly, which he wished he could say was due to the chill in the air. He’d lit the fire, but it did nothing for the winter chill that had settled in before he’d arrived. He didn’t complain, though, just let Arthur remove his clothes and rub him dry. 

It was oddly intimate. Merlin had been getting dressed by servants since his childhood but had taken over the job himself once he hit puberty, too embarrassed to keep letting his (typically male) servants dress and undress him. It still wasn’t an unusual duty of a servant. But feeling Arthur’s too warm hands on him… the appendages not quite lingering, but also not quite as quick as Merlin knew them to be when completing tasks… it was torture on his already bedraggled mind. 

Finally, the man was done, hand lingering a second too long on Merlin’s now toned chest. Merlin tensed at the feeling; eyes intense as he stared at the servant. Arthur didn’t look at him, though the soft blush on his face indicated he understood the intimacy of the moment. 

“You should eat, Merlin. It’s almost time for bed and you’ve had nothing since lunch. And even then, you had barely a piece of bread. You need to keep your strength up,” Arthur stated moments later, standing beside the food his father had had sent up to his rooms earlier. It was kept warm under a heating charm, but he felt almost sick as he looked at it. He couldn’t imagine eating anything. Shaking his head, Merlin went over to his desk, intending to answer some paperwork. 

What he found, instead, was a nondescript letter, addressed to him. His heart, for whatever reason, plummeted as he recognized the handwriting, before it began to pound, almost deafening him. Opening the letter, he began to read, Arthur’s annoyed voice washing over him. 

“-honestly, you’re so stubborn. Just eat something, damn you. Lord. Is this how you felt those first seven months? I’m surprised you didn’t throttle me. Merlin? Are you listening to me? Wait. What’s wrong? Oh, God, did something else happen? Christ, will it never end? What happened? Merlin you can tell me, I promise-”

“Gwaine broke up with me.”

The words hung heavy in the air, which was suddenly ice cold, despite the raging fire that had been steadily fighting the winter chill. Arthur shut up with a click of his jaw, but Merlin barely noticed. All he could see was the words ‘might be best to take a break, wouldn’t it, my love,’ and couldn’t focus on anything else. The words repeated in his head, increasing like a symphony until all he could hear was yet another failure. Yet another mistake. Yet another person he had let down and failed. 

Oh, God. He wanted to cry, but he was strangely empty. Nothing came up. He’d always been so emotional, so easy to cry. But now? Now he felt nothing. Nothing but pain and heartache. And so much numbness. 

“Merlin,” he heard a voice whisper, above his ear. He didn’t turn to it, just stared blankly at the paper. He did nothing as the letter was pulled gently from his hands, his servant inhaling harshly a moment later. Merlin knew he should be angry, furious that the man dared read his private correspondence, but he couldn’t muster up the feeling. It wasn’t until Arthur spoke, voice tinging with anger, that Merlin found the strength to look up. 

“That bastard. I’ll kill him. How dare he do this to you? Now, of all times! Wait, no, no. Killing him is too kind. I’ll castrate him, that will make him regret what he did. That complete and utter bas-”

“No,” Merlin claimed, eyes heavy on Arthur. The man looked furious, on his behalf, but the fury turned into confusion quickly. It was almost adorable. Like a puzzled puppy. Merlin wanted to smile but couldn’t. 

“Don’t be mad at him. I’ve seen this coming for a while. He- he never had wanted a relationship. He told me that the first time we were together. I had never... never expected anything. I just wanted to make sure he was alright, as he travelled. Things have been strained these past couple months, so I don’t blame him for wanting to put an end to it. Besides, he- he said he wanted a break. Not… not forever.”

Maybe if he told himself that often enough, he’d actually believe it. 

In the letter, Gwaine had insisted that he still loved Merlin, that if he had ever intended to settle down, that Merlin was the person he’d settle for. But they were too different. Their paths had diverged ages ago and their passionate letters were only holding together what had long since faded. Gwaine still wanted to be friends, would still write once a month, like he’d promised, even if Merlin never wrote back again. But he couldn’t keep trying to pour his heart out over letter after letter and receive almost nothing in return. Gwaine had assured him that he didn’t blame him. But that it was just getting too hard for him. And he assumed that Merlin had much bigger things to worry about, saying that he’d heard about the rebellions that were steadily rising. 

Merlin wondered, blithely, if Gwaine was a part of them. If he’d have to face his (now former) paramour on the battlefield. Wouldn’t that have been a cosmic joke? 

God, he didn’t need this right now! Everything was going to hell, his heart had already been stretched to its breaking point, and now this?! He was dumped by his first real lover? 

Merlin gasped heavily as the emotions rose in him, but still no tears formed. He wished they would. He wanted release from the pain that was consuming him. 

It was when he felt a soft hand gently touch his shoulder, a tender voice sorrowfully calling his name, that he snapped. 

Eyes filled with fury and rage, Merlin screamed, letting the agony in his heart out. The windows burst as his power surged through him, everything in the room blasted back as the wave of power ran through him. He had a second to feel remorse, to feel ashamed, but then the anger and pain rushed back in and he screamed again, power radiating off him like steam. 

It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t! Why?! Why was this happening?! It was too much! Too much, all at once! How could any man bear it?! How was he supposed to be calm and rational and _save his people_ when all he could feel was dead inside?!

He wanted everything to stop. He longed for the days before, before he’d had this terrible responsibility. The past year had been the best of his life, his father finally acknowledging him, Freya happy and healthy with Morgana at her side. And he had two men he loved so fiercely. 

And now he had nothing. He barely saw his father, outside of Court meetings when he’d be so tense he was more reminiscent of the statue he’d been all of Merlin’s life, not the almost caring man he’d come to know for the past year. He barely had time to see Freya, let alone speak with her or have a meal with her. And Gwaine…

Gwaine didn’t want him anymore. Couldn’t handle his non-answers and pitiful attempts at holding onto a relationship that had long since died. 

And now... Arthur…

Merlin gasped as he felt a strong hand grab his arm, yanking, making his scream of rage die, the power leaving him as everything in the room crashed onto the ground, free from the spiral he had unconsciously forced them into. He didn’t even want to look at the destruction he had wrought, his heart aching. 

Arthur would hate him, he realized, as strong hands turned him to face the one person who had remained unaffected by his stream of power. He shut his eyes tight, not wanting to see the hatred. Not wanting to see the fear and disgust. Oh, God. He couldn’t. Please. Please. 

A sob was released from his throat, even as still no tears rose to his eyes. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating under the pressure. He wanted relief. He wanted to stop feeling pain. He wanted-

“Shh, Merlin. Merlin, shhh. It’s alright. I’m here. I know things are shit right now, but I promise you, I’m here. It’s okay. I’m not leaving you. I will never leave you. I vow on my life. I will stay beside you through this all. And you will get through it. I believe in you, Merlin. You are the most incredible person I know. You will find a way to fix this. I have faith in you.”

There were warm fingers caressing his face, his cheeks, even as he sunk down to his knees, unable to find the energy to hold himself up. The body he felt before him sunk down with him, toned chest pressed tightly to his own. Any other time and he’d feel a shot of arousal flood through him, but at the moment all he felt was numb. He felt arms wrap around his body, holding him tight to that overly warm chest, but he couldn’t move his own, too frozen and numb. Words were whispered into his ear, promises and declarations of devotion. 

Declarations he had still done nothing to earn. 

At least it finally got him to cry, he thought mirthlessly, as tears finally spilled out. He gained control of his limbs then and wrapped them tightly around the person before him. The scent of cinnamon and clove assaulted his nose, the heady scent of the expensive perfume he’d given his servant as a present for the new year lingering on his tongue. He gasped heavily as he clutched the other man, knowing that this, too, would be ripped from him when he least suspected it. But, dear god, was he going to hold on tight while he still could. He had nothing else left. 

“Shhh. That’s it. Let it out, love. Just let it out. I won’t judge you. It’s okay. It’s okay,” a sweet voice whispered into his ear, strong arms rocking him softly. Merlin gasped, shame rushing through him. Christ. He’d thought he’d gotten over this. Over crying like a child over everything that went wrong. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, eyes still shut tight as more tears leaked out. Arthur shushed him, but he shook his head harshly, pulling back as he tried to scrub the shame away. “God, I’m sorry. I should be able to keep it together. I’m so fucking weak. How the hell am I going to fix this, Arthur? What on earth can I possibly do?”

The words were angry but held a hint of desperation in them. He could feel Arthur reaching for him, fingers trying to grasp him, but he pulled away, falling on his arse as he scrambled back. He hissed in pain as his palm caught on something, accidentally cutting his hand on a piece of broken glass as he made his retreat, forcing his eyes fly open as he watched the bright red blood flow from the open wound. It was strangely calming, as the pain washed over him, taking some of the panic with it. Christ...

“Shit,” Arthur cursed softly, but Merlin didn’t look up from his cut. Couldn’t. He heard Arthur stand, rummaging around in the mess, before he returned. Merlin watched, listless, as deft fingers began cleaning the wound with a miraculously unbroken bottle of antiseptic that he had made, under Gaius’s watchful eye. Thank god for unbreakable charms, he thought with a humorless smile. 

Soon the hand was clean and bandaged, though bright red blood soon stained the previously white fabric. Good, he privately thought, glad he was ruining something so clean. So pure. He wanted to ruin everything. 

“This has got to stop,” Arthur muttered, sighing as he rested his forehead against Merlin’s shoulder. He hadn’t realized the two were so close together. Merlin said nothing, just stared at his hand, waiting for the ax to drop. For Arthur to forsake him, too. For Arthur to quit, return home, claiming it was just too _hard_. Too challenging. His love was a curse, determined to destroy all who fell in its wicked path. His mother was the first to suffer its vile magic. She would not be the last. 

Distantly he remembered words, soft and sweet, whispered into his hair; words promising the owner of them would never leave. Would stay by him, always. But he didn’t trust those words. Couldn’t. People lied. Or they were wrong. They didn’t realize how hard things would get and they left. Or they died. It was life. 

“Merlin. Look at me. _Please_ ,“ the voice begged, the warmth at his shoulder pulling back enough, the heat of a gaze burning him. Merlin yearned to follow the request. But he couldn’t. He was paralyzed, heart somehow both racing and frozen in his chest. It felt like he was dying. 

“ _Merlin_ ,” the voice breathed, before a warm hand touched his face. He felt as it gently turned his cheek, forcing his face to turn. He resisted for a second, but the pressure remained, even as it paused, clearly letting him decide if he wanted to pull away or not. 

But he was tired of being a coward, he realized, as he gave in and let it finish its action. He was tired of being so utterly weak. It was time to face the music. To get it over with and learn how to live when everything he had ever loved had gone. Had been ripped cruelly from his hands. 

Kings didn’t hide away in their castle as war raged on around them. 

Kings were on the front line, fighting for the lives of their people. They didn’t cower in fear, terrified of the loss they could face. 

So, neither would he. 

It made something deep inside him ache, to see the exhausted sorrow on Arthur’s face. The man was usually so stoic, never expressing the emotions he felt inside. He was what a prince should be, he felt. Not Merlin. Girly, emotional Merlin, who felt everything so keenly; too keenly. Who couldn’t help but cry when he failed to save a baby bird. Who couldn’t help but laugh when he saw something that tickled him. Who wore his bloody heart on his sleeve, for the whole world to see, despite everything he tried to keep it down and hidden and _safe_. 

He’d sobbed to Gaius once, when he’d been seventeen (secretly mourning the loss of his friend), asking why he couldn’t contain himself. Why he felt so much more than what other people seemed to feel. Asking how he could stop feeling it, as it hurt too much. Gaius had shushed him and held him tight, whispering that his emotions weren’t a curse. Weren’t a burden. They were what gave him strength. Gave him power. 

He highly doubted that, as he sat in his destroyed room, his (soon to be former, again) servant staring at him with fucking _pity_ in those oceanic eyes. Merlin wanted to be angry. Wanted to scream at the man. To send him away before he could possibly even think of leaving himself. It would still hurt, yes. But at least it would be on his own terms. 

But he couldn’t, he realized, as Arthur grasped his cheek, palm so wondrously warm on his frigid cheek. The winter air was flowing in through the window he’d shattered, rain soaking the floor beneath the gaping hole. He’d have to fix that, he thought distantly, before the night ended. The fire that still raged had no hope of heating the broken room. 

As Arthur opened his mouth, Merlin closed his eyes against his will, suddenly so afraid for the words he knew he was about to hear. After all. Who would want to remain bound to a pathetic warlock like Merlin? To think, he was often considered the most powerful warlock in all of Albion. Ha! He was nothing like that. He was nothing at all. He was even too afraid to face rejection like any grown adult. Pathetic. 

“Merlin. Please, look at me,” Arthur begged yet again. Merlin felt a warm weight press against his forehead, solid and steady. He could feel air puff against his lips, almost like a kiss. He longed to lean forward, to press his lips to his servant’s. To kiss him and to never stop kissing him. To hold on and never let go. 

But he couldn’t. 

Arthur wouldn’t want that. 

Not now. 

Still. He opened his eyes, gasping at the emotion he saw within the cerulean gaze. He couldn’t even describe it. It was just… 

Warm. 

“I know things are bad right now. They’re likely going to get worse before they get better. I can’t make that stop. I can’t take this burden from you. Nor can I carry it for you. I wish that I could. All that I can do is stay beside you, through it all. To give you the support you need. I know I am just a servant. That you have no reason to care at all for my loyalty. But I serve you not because of your position. Not because of your power or your might. Not because I fear retribution or punishment. I serve you because I truly believe that you will become a great king one day. And, as best I can, I will serve you until that day comes. And, if you allow it, I will serve you for as long after as I possibly can. Because you are the future of Albion. You will bring peace to these lands. Not these rebels. Not their war. I believe it, Merlin. And I will not rest until you believe it, too.” 

Oh. 

God. 

It was somehow both better _and_ worse than he’d expected. Instead of scorn and hatred he got…

Love. 

Devotion. 

_Loyalty_. 

God. What had he done? What had he done to inspire such faith in him? 

He didn’t realize he’d asked that aloud until he felt a puff of air against his lips, a small smile teasing at Arthur’s lips in response. 

“You were yourself,” was the answer. Merlin waited for more, but it was clear the man had finished as he sat back and smiled softly at Merlin. Like he had hung the moon and the stars, and the sun for good measure. 

Like he was everything. 

Merlin felt tears rise to his eyes again and had to gasp and look up to keep them from escaping. Even still, a few fell out. He hated them. Arthur just hummed, reaching out and wiping the tears away. It was so unbelievably tender Merlin thought he was about to die. 

It had been a while since he’d been touched so tenderly. Arthur had been distant the past year and a half, since Fayford. He rarely touched Merlin, if ever. And while his father was more tactile now than ever before, he still rarely touched Merlin with care. And since everything had begun, he and Freya rarely were together, nor did he spend much time with Gaius. Morgana was out of the question entirely, his relationship with the girl purely business these days. 

In fact… he’d probably been touched more today than in the last few months combined. It was doing something to his head. It hurt, so much. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. 

Weak. 

“I, I t-thought… I thought you’d hate me,” he rasped, voice heavy and torn from his earlier rage and subsequent emotion. He could only watch, dumb, as Arthur shook his head purposely, eyes bright and sharp. 

“No. Never, Merlin. I could never hate you. Not in a million years. And there is nothing you can do to tear me from your side. Even if you tried to send me away, I’d just come back. Arrest me and I’d just break out. You’ll never be rid of me, I’m afraid.”

Arthur said it lightly, his mouth smiling a secret grin. But his eyes were serious. He meant it. 

Merlin had no idea how to respond. Gwaine (and ow, thinking of the man hurt, but he pushed it aside. He didn’t want to hate everything they had shared because of how it had ended. Gwaine had even asked him to think of him fondly, if it was at all possible) had always told him that Arthur adored him. That Arthur… that Arthur _loved_ him. 

It wasn’t until this moment that he fully believed in the words. 

Maybe they couldn’t be together romantically. Maybe they were not destined for that. But they could be friends. He’d say brothers if his love were not distinctly inappropriate for such a relation. He didn’t need to hold and kiss Arthur to love him fiercely, with all his heart. Or to be loved so fiercely in return. 

It still hurt, he thought, as he smiled brokenly and watched as Arthur nodded back, like he was confirming something Merlin had never asked. Arthur then stood and looked around the room, frowning. Merlin felt hot shame creep in as he glanced briefly around. 

Luckily most things were not shattered or broken. He’d had enough outbursts of his magic as a child to learn to protect everything valuable with an unbreakable charm. Meaning the things themselves couldn’t break, of course. Most things were just scattered around, papers everywhere. The window was shattered, his magic too strong to protect against the fragile glass. It was strange that his outburst hadn’t affected Arthur, though. He knew the man still wore his merlin pendant, the magic strong and steady, but the thing didn’t really protect against instinctual magic like what he had released earlier. 

Perhaps, he thought with a humorless smile, even his magic wanted anything but to hurt Arthur. 

“You should head to bed, Merlin. I’ll deal with this mess,” Arthur claimed, but Merlin shook his head. 

“No… no, that’s not fair. I- I’ll clean it. Y-you should head back to Gaius. I’m sure he’s worried about you. I can handle myself.”

Arthur just gave him a fond look, helping him stand on unsteady legs. 

“Don’t you ever listen, _Mer_ lin? You can’t get rid of me. Don’t try and send me away. You are exhausted, your power waned from earlier. Let me take care of you. Please.”

Oh fuck. How was he supposed to handle this, he thought hysterically? This man was going to be his death. He was positive of it. 

“Besides. I need to eat food and I’ve been stealing yours for so long I don’t think I can go back to any other. I’m going to order some food to be sent up to us, alright? You stay here and don’t even think of cleaning. Got it?”

Arthur raised his eyebrow at Merlin, doing such a good job at impersonating the Dreaded Eyebrow of Doom (as Arthur had taken to calling it. The first time he’d heard the other man refer to it as such he’d burst out laughing and determined he would use that description always) that Merlin shuddered unconsciously. Merlin didn’t intend on following the order, but he nodded absently regardless. Arthur looked satisfied at the response and turned to exit the room. He promised, as he exited, that he would return as soon as he found someone to send word to the kitchen. He’d been very insistent on that, so Merlin just nodded again. 

As soon as he left Merlin wandered over to the window, staring at the broken glass. Part of him wondered, had things gone differently, if he wouldn’t have just tossed himself out the gaping hole, like part of still longed to do. But he couldn’t do that. Not to Arthur, who would return to find his body, cold and dead on the ground a hundred feet below. No. He couldn’t do that to his… friend. 

Instead, he let his battered magic coil around him, like a snake, and magicked the broken glass back together. It was a mild time altering spell, altering the glass’s memory until it was whole again. It felt strange, sometimes, thinking about inanimate objects having memory, but Gaius had assured him that everything had a sensory memory of the state it was before, or the matter that it was made out of. That’s why it was technically possible to turn blood into pure iron, or to unbake a cake. One just had to reverse the sensory memory, until it reached its former state. Or, to alter the sensory memory until it was something new, but still ultimately a sum of its parts. 

Regardless, soon the window was whole again, though the bitter chill lingered. Merlin converted the water that had entered from the rain into air vapor, the floor dry but the air colder with the humidity. It was strangely comforting, at least. 

Before he could set about cleaning the room (most of which he’d want to do by hand, his magic still so fragile and angry that he couldn’t do the precise spells that fixing the mess would require), Arthur came back, his genial expression turning stern. 

“ _Mer_ lin, I thought I told you that I’d take care of the cleaning,” Arthur chided, rolling his eyes. Merlin couldn’t help how his eyes crinkled with the smile that bloomed on his face at the words. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Please, tell me how you intended to fix the window with your abundant magic. I’m so eager to hear,” Merlin teased, lightheaded with how simple it was. Arthur scowled exaggeratedly, but he wasn’t able to hide the smile that was fighting to make its way known. 

“Oh, piss off. Prat,” Arthur muttered, eyes rolling. Merlin couldn’t help the grin that rose on his face. 

“Dollophead,” he rejoined, tone so unbelievably fond he might have been saying ‘I love you.’ 

“Clotpole,” Arthur returned, tone the exact same. 

“Hey! That’s my word!” He yelped, trying so hard to sound offended when all he felt was exhausted and unbearably fond. He felt he failed, but Arthur was kind enough not to call him out on it. Instead, the man just smirked. 

“Then stop acting like one. Clotpole.”

Merlin laughed, his heart and stomach aching with the sound, but it felt so good. He hadn’t laughed in a long time. Since before this whole thing began. 

“You know what we should do? We should do something fun. To hell with everything that’s going on. We need to get out, stretch our legs. Maybe a picnic? No… your father shut down the citadel. We could escape, I suppose, head to that lake you adore so much. Just you and me. Or we could bring Freya and Morgana! It doesn’t, well. Have to be just us. It would be nice. Or we don’t have to, I mean, it’s probably a bad idea-“

“I’d love to,” Merlin breathed, eyes wide as he watched the rambling man. Arthur shut his mouth with a snap, but he couldn’t help the hapless grin that made its way up onto his cheeks. His heart sunk, however, as he recalled why they couldn’t. “I have my duties, though. With the rebels now taking direct action... I barely had time before. Now I probably will never have time again. I, I’m sorry Arthur. I really am.”

And he truly was. For a moment there, he’d allowed himself to pretend that he was normal. That he was a boy, being courted by a gentleman suitor. That he could actually do something simple like have a picnic with the man he so desperately loved. 

But he wasn’t. Normal. He had responsibilities and duties. And besides, even if he didn’t. Arthur didn’t, _couldn’t_ , love him that way. Refused to, if nothing else. It was nice to dream, but he couldn’t ever forget reality. Not fully. 

To his surprise, Arthur just smiled, his eyes twinkling. 

“Just leave that to me. As long as the rain lets out, I promise I will bring you on a picnic by the lake come morning. We will feast and have at least one good day. Even if I have to battle God himself to do it.”

The way he said it… like it was the most important task on earth. Like it meant more to him that words could say. It made him _ache_ inside, heart yearning for something he couldn’t have. 

Before he could say anything more, there was a knock at the door. Arthur turned towards it, reluctant grimace on his face. He gave Merlin an apologetic smile before he turned to answer the door, mercifully keeping the door closed enough that whoever had delivered the food wouldn’t see and potentially spread rumors about Merlin’s rage and pain. He’d hate for word to reach his sister or father. That would be the worst. 

Luckily nothing of the sort happened and Arthur closed the door firmly a moment later, hands full of a tray overflowing with food. He brought the food over to the table, frowning when he realized it was upturned still. Merlin, with barely a thought, whispered a spell and righted the table. Arthur, inexplicably, glared at him, even as he put the food down. 

“I thought I told you that I was going to clean up,” he grumbled. Merlin didn’t know if he should laugh or not. God. He swore, Arthur was the only servant who actually _demanded_ more chores. 

“You were holding a tray of food!” Merlin retorted, trying to keep the smile off his face. It hurt, feeling so light after he’d just had his heart ripped out (not because of Gwaine, not necessarily. But because of everything that was going on), but it was good. Arthur was the only person in the world who could actually make him genuinely smile after the shit he’d gone through the last several months. He doubted even Freya would have been able to do it. 

“I still could have had it!” Arthur insisted, pointing at Merlin with the chicken leg he’d picked up, after having righted a chair for himself to sit in. Merlin couldn’t help the laugh that burst from him at the sight. God. It was so good. 

“I adore you,” Merlin muttered, freezing as soon as the words passed his lips. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. At least he’d said a slightly less damning word, but still… 

Merlin held his breath as Arthur froze too, clearly hearing the words, even though part of Merlin had been hoping he wouldn’t. It was like the world was on pause, like those moments when his magic would slow everything down to a crawl to let him process things faster. Luckily (or unluckily), all too soon Arthur snapped out of it and grinned at him, eyes radiating light and sunshine and happiness. 

Oh, he was so very, very fucked. Why had he agreed to a picnic with this incredible man? 

“The feeling is mutual,” Arthur hummed, eyes practically begging Merlin to see the emotion he held inside. 

But suddenly Merlin was afraid. Afraid of the sunshine and heat and _devotion_ he saw in those ocean blues. So, swallowing thickly, he looked away and nodded tightly. Arthur sighed and gestured to the chair beside him, which he had picked up at the same time he’d righted his own. Not wanting to fight the man, he took a seat and allowed Arthur to fuss over him like a mother hen. Honesty, for a man who claimed he hated acting girly, he sure had a mean mothering streak. 

As he slowly ate the array of food Arthur had forced onto his plate (an entire roast chicken breast, a heap of mashed potatoes, some boiled vegetables, a side of carrot soup, and various cheeses and breads. Merlin had rolled his eyes at the array but didn’t complain, knowing how fiercely stubborn his servant was), he began to relax. A little. Somewhat. Not much, but enough. 

Finally the food was all gone, his stomach aching but he knew it was better to eat, even as his stomach churned horribly, than to forgo the act. He then stood and looked around the room, still dismayed at the mess, but knew Arthur would gag and bind him to the bed if he tried to pick anything up. Treason be damned. 

“Lie down, Merlin. I’ll take care of the mess, you don’t have to worry about it,” Arthur muttered softly, hand gently touching the side of Merlin’s hip, approaching him from the back. Merlin could feel his warm breath against his neck, making him shudder fiercely. It was incredible. Arthur pressed his hand to his hip more firmly, stepping up so close Merlin could feel his heat. 

He could also feel the dampness of a cloth. He frowned, realizing with a jolt that whilst Arthur had helped him change his clothes earlier, the man had never changed his outfit himself. He’d been in wet clothes this entire time, the room steadily getting colder the longer the window had remained broken. Shit. 

With a muttered spell, he heard a hitch in breathing as the man behind him shuddered at the sudden warmth. Arthur pressed firmer to his back, practically every inch of him pressed tight to his body. It was so incredible. 

Especially as he felt the distinct hardness pressing against his lower back. 

Oh, shit. Fuck. Damn. The arousal that had been missing earlier due to his heartbreak came flooding in with a vengeance. He gasped silently at the feeling, Arthur’s other hand rising to hold his chest, fist over his racing heart. It was so much. Too much. 

With intense regret as soon as he did it, Merlin tore himself away, eyes downcast and face bright red as he mumbled something even, he couldn’t make out. Arthur wasn’t doing much better, the man coughing lightly and shuffling his feet. Merlin couldn’t see his face, given the fact he had his own face turned as far down as his neck allowed, but he figured it would be similarly red. 

“Y-you should get some rest, though. The next several days are going to be hard. You look exhausted. Sleep. I’ll clean the room. I swear.” 

Merlin wanted to argue, but he knew Arthur was right. And knew that arguing would just result in Arthur getting upset. The man seemed to enjoy cleaning, sometimes. He said it helped clear his head. Ridiculous man. Reluctantly, he trudged over to his bed, groaning as he sat and let the soft feather bed welcome him. He adored his bed, he had to admit that much. 

But even as he laid down and watched, eyes both amused and embarrassed, as Arthur tenderly tucked him in, he couldn’t help how his mind refused to shut down long enough to let him sleep. Instead he watched, eyes hidden by the covers, as Arthur puttered around, cleaning the room with nary a sound. Sometimes he’d hum softly, a tune that sounded like old lullabies his nannies would sing him before his father determined he was too old for such babying. It was nice. Pleasant. 

Finally the man finished for the night, likely an hour later. He couldn’t see the moon with how the clouds hung in the sky, but he figured it was passed midnight. The room wasn’t fully clean, the papers still a mess and certain things still upturned. But it was at least organized. Merlin’s hand throbbed as the anesthetics Gaius mixed into his antiseptic recipe began to wear off, but he welcomed the pain. It made him feel real. Alive. 

He closed his eyes hurriedly as Arthur approached him, not wanting the man to see that he’d not listened to him (not that it was his fault. He hadn’t meant to not sleep). To his shock, Arthur paused at the head of the bed, sitting carefully on the mattress as he leaned over Merlin’s body. He almost started when he felt a gentle hand caress his forehead, sweeping the wild bangs that covered his eyes. His heart began to pound widely in his chest as he felt Arthur lean over him, warm breath passing on his lips as the man hovered over his face. For a split second, he had the wild thought that the man was about to kiss him. 

And then, shock of all shocks. 

Arthur did. 

Merlin felt his heart stutter as he felt lips tenderly brush over his forehead, the warm lips lingering for several seconds, the man breathing heavily, puffs of air tickling his hair. It felt like both an eternity and not nearly long enough passed before the lips were gone, though the face lingered. Merlin did his best to stay neutral, to pretend he was still asleep. 

But as Arthur began to pull away... as Merlin could feel Arthur shifting to go...

He realized that he wanted nothing more than for the man to stay. 

And so, not bothering to think it through, his exhausted mind reeling from sensory overload, Merlin allowed his hand to dart out, grabbing Arthur’s wrist, causing the man to yelp in shock. Merlin opened his eyes, almost amused to see the wide-eyed look on the usually unflappable man’s face. Almost, he said, as most of him was feeling a sick form of anticipation mixed with dread as he tried to formulate the words he wanted to get out. 

“Stay,” was what he eventually mumbled, eyes heavy as he blinked. Arthur only stared; his breathing stopped as he turned his whole body towards Merlin. “Please,” he added, after a minute had passed with no response. 

Arthur swallowed thickly, nodding heavily. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, voice tight, “yeah, okay. I can… I can sleep in the chair. Or on the floor. It’s fine, I don’t min-”

“No,” Merlin interjected, eyes drooping, even as he held tight to the other man’s hand. “Stay here. With me. In… in bed. Please,” he whispered, feeling so stupid but knowing he couldn’t help it. He was just so tired. So tired, and scared, and heartsick. So much had happened these last two months. He’d been forced to feel helpless and powerless as a rebel group created terror in his kingdom. He’d self-isolated from his friends, allowing himself to grow more and more distant as the days passed. He’d grown cold and sick inside with each day he failed to do as his father asked, failed to find the rebels and bring them to justice. 

And to top it off, the only romantic relationship he’d ever had, had been ended unceremoniously, all because he hadn’t been emotionally available enough to maintain the long-distance relationship, likely hurting Gwaine in the process. He realized that, now, heart twinging with sorrow. Gwaine had always been the kind of man to feel everything so deeply. So keenly. It was like how he, himself was, but Gwaine manifested his emotions differently. He put on an air of detachment, designed to scare people away, but it was only to protect the bleeding heart he had underneath. He’d hurt Gwaine by his short, sometimes taciturn replies to long, heartfelt letters. He knew it. He felt horrible about it, now, but had no idea what else to do. Everything was falling apart around him. It wasn’t Gwaine’s fault their relationship had failed, but he didn’t want to believe it was his, either. It was just… circumstance. 

Still. It hurt. Everything hurt. He wanted so badly to stop hurting, for one minute. For one night. To be held and loved and wanted. 

To be wanted. 

Arthur gasped, a sharp inhale of breath that the man held as he stared, wide eyed, at Merlin. Merlin, to his credit, said nothing, just stared firmly back. It was only after two minutes had passed with no response that Merlin started to grow concerned. For one, Arthur was starting to turn blue from lack of oxygen. For another, he realized how odd the request must sound, his cheeks heating as more time passed. 

“Y- you don’t have to. It’s not an order. I just… I just don’t want... b-but it’s fine! I’ll be... be fine. I just-”

“Okay,” Arthur breathed, cutting him off. The color returned to the man’s face, cheeks rosy and bright in the dim firelight as a slow smile bloomed on his rugged face. It was Merlin’s turn to stare, dumbly, as he tried to process the words. Slowly, they sunk in, causing a wide, only slightly manic grin to appear. 

“Okay! O-okay,” he repeated, heart pounding a mile a minute. “I have some old, stretched out sleep clothes in the cabinet. I, uh. Think they should fit you. I mean, it’s too cold to sleep without clothing, and I, I mean, I-” 

He cut himself off before he could make a bigger fool of himself, but Arthur was just smiling fondly, even as he stood to wander over to the cabinet. Merlin watched as the man rummaged around, the cabinet luckily having not been affected by his earlier storm since it was bolted firmly to the ground with magic. For good reason. 

Finally, the man found the outfit he’d referred to. It had been an old favorite of his, though it regrettably got stretched out when he’d tried to force a cow to wear it (don’t ask. It was a long, _long_ story). It was clean, obviously, but he watched as Arthur brought it to his face, breathing in the old fabric. Oh, shit. Oh, Fuck. Goddamn. 

He then could only watch, helpless, as Arthur stared straight into his eyes. Blue eyes boring deep into his soul, as the man began to strip off his clothes, slowly. Sensually. 

Oh fuck. Ohhhh fuck. Shit. Fuck. Damn. 

Gwaine had liked to do this, he thought hysterically, eyes not tearing away for a second. Liked to tease Merlin by slowly stripping before he ravished him. 

This was different, though. Those times had always held some strange form of expectation, the secure knowledge of what was about to follow. This moment… this moment was electric. Sizzling. Heady. It made him feel so Much, so very, very _Much_ , but he had no idea where it would lead. If this meant anything. Or if it was just a tease. Just Arthur reacting to the strange energy the night had gained. Nothing truly meant. 

It seemed an eternity passed before Arthur finished dressing. Merlin finally understood Gwaine’s obsession with getting Merlin into his clothes, though. It was fucking intoxicating to see the man he loved wearing clothes that belonged to him. He didn’t even know how to explain the feeling. It made no sense, yet it felt oh so amazing to see. 

Slowly, like he expected Merlin to snap at him and yell at him to leave (ha! Fat chance), Arthur stalked towards the bed, movements slow and languid. Days passed as Arthur slithered forward, Merlin about ready to pass out from anticipation. It was not the first time they’d shared a bed, but it was the first when they weren’t intoxicated or otherwise impaired. It was also the first time he’d shared a bed with someone who he hadn’t fucked minutes before. Hm. Probably shouldn’t be thinking about fucking with how hard he currently was. 

Finally, though, decades later, Arthur arrived at the bed. Merlin watched as Arthur slowly, painstakingly slowly, pulled down the covers he’d tucked in only an hour before and carefully slid under the warm sheets. 

It was awkward. Merlin strangely felt like it shouldn’t have been, but it was. Almost painfully so. Arthur was just so tense, even as he laid down facing Merlin, looking unendingly uncertain. He wanted to wipe the look off the man’s face, but he had no idea how. He was so uncertain himself, after all.

Finally, it was as Arthur began to look away and lie on his back that Merlin had had enough. Sighing lightly, he crossed the mere inches of space between the pair and slotted himself in the crook of Arthur’s arm, heart pounding as he rested his head over the other man’s heart. At least he wasn’t alone. Arthur’s heart was pounding, loud and sure, under his ear. He secretly adored it. 

It took several minutes for both boys to relax, but eventually they did. Arthur adjusted his position and pulled Merlin closer, so that he was flush against Arthur’s side. It was probably the most intimate thing he’d ever experienced, and he’d both fucked and had been fucked by another man. So that was saying something. 

Part of Merlin hated himself for having done it. After all, he was the man’s master. He had power over him. Could he truly trust that Arthur wanted this? That he wasn’t doing it out of some sick form of obligation?

Then again… then again, he felt, as he heard the man above him sigh happily a minute later, nose buried deep in Merlin’s hair, breathing deep (he probably would have been creeped out by all the sniffing if he wasn’t currently doing it, too, the scent of the perfume he’d gifted Arthur intoxicating to him), he figured he’d know if Arthur truly hated it. Arthur was not an open book, like Merlin was, but he wasn’t the kind to go along with something he hated without making his displeasure at the very least known. 

So… so, he must not mind. Too much, at least. Maybe he gained some comfort from it, too. It was nice, to not be so very alone, after all. Plus, he had a very comfortable bed. After sleeping on the mattress that had been Arthur’s bed for twenty years, he knew this must feel like a dream. 

“Go to sleep Merlin. I swear your racing brain is keeping me up,” Arthur muttered sleepily, pulling Merlin tighter to his side. Merlin couldn’t say a single thing, throat too thick. He was so tired, but he didn’t know how he was going to sleep after this, with how his mind raced. He heard Arthur sigh above him, then felt warm lips press firmly to the top of his head, causing his heart to stutter. Warm fingers twined in his hair, petting him softly, like he was a cat. 

“Sleep, Merlin. Don’t make me drug you. I’ll still be here when you wake. I promise. Now close your eyes and go the fuck to sleep.”

Well. Merlin was never one to deny such a sweetly worded request. 

Rolling his eyes, Merlin did as was asked and closed them, allowing himself a moment to take in the sensations he hadn’t had the ability to fully appreciate the last two times he’d found himself lying in Arthur’s arms. The radiating heat that the other man gave out. The unbearable tenderness with which he was being held. The feeling of a hard body pressed against his, so very tightly. He was sure that his arousal was obvious to the other man, his groin pressed firmly to Arthur’s thigh, but Arthur didn’t mention it. In fact, he seemed to press against it, making Merlin have to suppress a moan in Arthur’s borrowed sleep shirt. And, he was nearly positive he was hearing things. Because it almost sounded like Arthur moaned back, soft and breathy, and oh so amazing. 

But he didn’t have time to think on it as much as he’d like, as a wave of tiredness hit him, washing over him like a mollusk at the shore, buried under sheets of water and sand. 

He barely had time to hear Arthur mutter something to him, tone warm and beautiful, but the words distant, when he’d fallen into a deep sleep. 

That night he dreamed of fire and death, battle and bloodshed. He’d almost have been afraid it was a prophetic dream if there hadn’t been too many illogical elements, like the sky raining blood and the rebel leader’s face (which had looked a touch like Arthur’s, for some reason) melting into a decaying skull. Of course, it was possible to be a future event, but it would have been unlikely. 

However, above it all. Above the nightmares and the fear. 

He dreamed of blue eyes, tender, looking at him like he was the center of the universe. 

He figured it balanced out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Gwaine! 
> 
> This chapter got so dramatic, aha. I didn't edit it, so I don't remember a lot of the details, but I do remember it's melodramatic. Gwaine was not meant to be a bad guy here, or made to seem like he was trying to be cruel to Merlin. He's not, at all. He doesn't realize that Merlin is struggling, since Merlin hasn't written to him about his problems, since Merlin doesn't want to worry Gwaine or anything. So, to Gwaine, Merlin has just been distant and seemingly uninterested, and Gwaine doesn't want to force Merlin to stay in a relationship he doesn't want. He wants the best for Merlin (and Arthur, aha), so he's letting Merlin free so he can pursue happiness, or something. If he knew that Merlin was struggling or in a bad place, he wouldn't have done it. He was trying to do the noble, good thing, and it just... fell kind of short. He does come back in later chapters, though, and "redeems" himself. 
> 
> Anyway! Hope you liked! :-D


	21. A Man Holding On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! I'm late!! I know!!
> 
> Ahh. I've got no excuse for being late, so sorry, y'all. I'm just... not feeling this story much, anymore. I don't know. It's all written, so I will post it all, but it's not a high priority to me. If anyone is interested, I am currently writing a Drarry (Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter) fic, which I will post, should I ever finish it. It's an "eighth year" fic, where the group goes back to Hogwarts for their last year after the war, and it deals with lots of heavy stuff, like PTSD and the like. So, my usual. There's no guarantee I'll finish it (I gave up on the other Merthur fic I mentioned ages ago, if anyone was curious about that), but I hope I will. Work stuff is getting confusing, though, so who knows. I was randomly told yesterday that I've been transferred to a different division, where I'll be teaching an online curriculum to children after school? But like, they have given me no info about it whatsoever, and school starts in a week? So, yeah. Confusing. 
> 
> Anyway! This chapter. I honestly have no idea what is going on in this story anymore, as I've not been reading it before posting, because otherwise I'll never end up posting these chapters. I, apparently, wrote an author's note back when I wrote the chapter, so hopefully that explains things better than I am now. Also, the chapter title comes from an old country song I like, A Man Holding On (To A Woman Letting Go), by Ty Herndon. Who, I learned recently, is the rare gay country singer. Good for him, honestly. I don't think this chapter has anything to do with the song, I just liked the title. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Let it never be said that there wasn’t something incredibly intimate and sensual about waking up, arms full of the man you (not so) secretly were in love with. 

Christ. It was incredible. So warm and beautiful and just… perfect. 

Merlin was perfect, Arthur thought softly, eyes drinking in the soft sleeping face. The way his eye lashes fluttered on his pale cheeks. The way his breath puffed out, causing Arthur’s borrowed shirt to shudder. He’d always known it, but Gwaine truly was the biggest idiot in Albion for throwing this away. To think the other man could have woken to this, held this, and still elected to break up with him. Barmy. Completely mad. 

The only way it would have been more perfect was if he had been in the position to be able to do something about the warm length that was pressed firmly to his thigh, teasing him as its presence made itself known. As it was, he had to settled for sleepy fantasies, desires that would have him blushing and embarrassed, if he weren’t so warm and sleepy and comfortable. 

He wanted the moment to last forever. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to forget the previous night, heart breaking as he remembered Merlin’s rage. Merlin, for as emotional as he was, didn’t often break down. Arthur hadn’t seen it in a year; not since Gwaine had nearly died. It had been almost terrifying, seeing the wave of energy wash around him, pushing everything but him back. It was funny. He had expected to at least feel the usual warmth from the charm he wore, but it hadn’t pinged even as the room was destroyed. 

His heart had pounded though, as he felt the wave of anguish and pain that had pulsed around him. It had been agony to see and feel, his heart shattering as he saw Merlin break down. 

He didn’t care what Merlin said. He would not forgive Gwaine for adding yet another weight onto Merlin’s thin shoulders. He had read the letter (he hadn’t meant to, had just meant to pull it away, but his curiosity and concern had forced him to read the damned thing. All things considered, it had been a sweet letter, full of sorrow and regret, but Arthur didn’t care. It had hurt Merlin. Gwaine had hurt Merlin, despite Arthur’s threats, and so he would have to pay) and had felt his heart break for the man. After everything. After all that had happened. Now this? It was like the universe was purposely trying to shit on the man. It was ridiculous. 

On top of all that, on the pain he’d witness the night before… he realized that he really had missed Merlin. Oh, he saw the man every single day, of course. But he never really got to speak with him. Was just forced to watch as Merlin was pulled thinner and thinner from the various responsibilities he had been thrust into. The rebellions had taken their toll mentally on his friend, but he had no idea how to make it better. No idea what he could possibly do to take some strain off the prince. 

Holding him… whispering sweet words of devotion… laying his heart out, bear, for the man to see but not feeling afraid of rejection… it was so incredible. He hated himself for it, but part of him had danced with joy at the heartfelt look Merlin had given him, eyes full of pain but locked completely on his. He didn’t know why he suggested a picnic, of all things, but the way Merlin had responded… his voice breathy and eyes bright… even the man’s fear that they couldn’t because of his duties didn’t dampen the way Arthur’s heart had soared. He’d move heaven and hell to make that picnic happen. He didn’t care who he had to kill. 

Okay... maybe not kill. Mildly wound? Maim? Threaten? That was likely better. 

Arthur was pulled from his musings as Merlin shuffled, soft snuffling sounds coming from his throat. It was so utterly adorable that Arthur could only watch, heart aching and full. Then he had to stifle his groan, as Merlin pressed his groin more firmly to his thigh, nearly humping him lightly. Fucking hell. 

The man was still asleep. He knew that. It was still agony, Merlin’s breathing hitching as he pressed closer and then moved away, again and again, like the waves on the shore that he’d seen once and only once. He didn’t want to wake the man, knowing he needed sleep, but he felt so discombobulated and warm inside that he was going to burst if the man didn’t stop. 

Thankfully, mercifully, he did. Merlin settled against his side a moment later, sighing happily as he pressed in as close as he could. Like he was trying to burrow into his very core. Arthur could feel a hand grasp his shirt so tightly, holding on for dear life. 

If he were to die that moment, he knew that he would die a very happy man. 

Arthur absently raised his hand and let his fingers run through Merlin’s hair, petting the man like he’d always longed to do. It was so soft, he marveled, watching as the inky strands hid his pale white digits under their darkness. The moment was so incredibly intimate and private that Arthur never, ever wanted it to end. 

Of course, it had to. Everything ended, eventually. But the moment that followed was almost just as good. Maybe even better. 

He could feel Merlin start to stir against him, the sun starting to rise behind the blinds he had closed but still let some light through, which hopefully meant it had stopped raining. Merlin had told him once that he rose with the sun, the energy causing his magic to stir within him. His fingers were still rubbing softly through the prince’s hair. He knew he should stop his ministrations, taking too much, much more than Merlin had gifted, but he found he couldn’t. He could only watch and listen as Merlin snuffled softly, rubbing his face firmly against Arthur’s broad chest, eyes still shut tight against the small amounts of light that were filling the room despite the heavy blinds. 

He was so adorable. Like a puppy or kitten, mewling in sleep. Arthur didn’t think his heart could take much more of this. But he was helpless to look away, helpless to detach himself. It was just so utterly perfect. 

Arthur could tell the instant Merlin realized that something was different and wrong. Most people wouldn’t have been able to tell, but he was pressed so tightly to the man, as well as knew him so very well, that he could feel the barely noticeable stiffening as Merlin realized he wasn’t alone. Heart beginning to pound lightly, Arthur licked his lips and nosed at Merlin’s head, eyes closing as his nose was invaded by the thick scent of flowers, nature, sweat, horse, and something he couldn’t begin to describe. Something that he figured was just… Merlin. He knew it was creepy, going around smelling people, but god, he couldn’t help it. There was just something so familiar and homely about the scent that he couldn’t help but crave it. 

“Good morning, my prince,” he muttered a moment later, voice husky and thick with sleep. He felt Merlin stiffen further, having a moment to fear that he was about to get kicked out of bed and yelled at for taking liberties with a Royal, but his fears were assuaged when Merlin practically melted against him, soft moan on his breath. 

Jesus Christ. This man would be the death of him. 

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed, breath hitching when Arthur tugged his hair gently in reply, not meaning to but finding he couldn’t help it as his groin filled with blood at the intoxicating sounds Merlin was making. The breathy gasps. The tiny shudders of breath. Fuck. 

“Are you feeling better?” He muttered against the head that was pressing against his chest, before it gently leaned up against his chin in response to his question. The man practically purred as Arthur petted his hair, languid and boneless. Oh, fuck. 

“Mmmm,” was all Merlin could say, nodding slowly against his chest. Arthur couldn’t help the whine that he released, high pitched and yearning. Oh, he wanted so badly in that moment. Wanted to push Merlin onto his back and kiss his breath away. To kiss those lips and consume the tiny sounds that the man was making, driving him crazy, his head swimming with sensation. He wanted to put his hands on that lithe body, fingers running over the skin he’d felt yesterday but hadn’t been allowed to truly touch. But god, did he want to touch. Every single inch. His mouth following, leaving little bruises of love in his wake, the man beneath him moaning so prettily, so beautifully. And then... his mouth heading south… lips pressed against the bulge he’d seen many times but was never allowed to look at. To touch. 

He wondered what Merlin would taste like as he came. 

Ooookay, time to disengage from this situation. He’d had his fun, but now he was truly taking too many liberties. 

It wasn’t that he thought Merlin would be opposed to the idea, he figured mildly, as he felt Merlin hold tight and whine when he tried to pull away. In fact, he had the feeling that Merlin would welcome the ministrations, would moan so prettily and lovely, voice screaming his name as he came. After all, he knew where the man’s preferences lied, and Arthur was humble enough to recognize that he, himself, was a stunning man. He’d looked in the mirror, sometimes, admiring his own physique. Not that he’d ever admit that, mind. 

So, Merlin likely wouldn’t complain. Would probably even welcome it. 

But it wasn’t right. 

And, he admitted privately, smile unbidden on his lips as he shushed the other man, pulling away as gently as he could, it wasn’t how he wanted their first time to go. He was still so conflicted and confused about his feelings, and Merlin’s feelings, but the one thing he knew was that it was bigger than anything else he had ever felt. He had thought he’d loved Gwen, once. And he was sure he had. Still did, to some extent. But it paled in comparison to the emotion he was feeling currently. The last time he’d been in Fayford, he’d seen Gwen kissing Lancelot, which at one point would have angered and hurt him. All he had felt, at the time, was happiness for his friend. Maybe a hint of sorrow as he thought of what could have been, but it wasn’t anything major. 

If he saw Merlin kiss another man, now… it had been agony before, when he hadn’t even realized the scope of his feelings. He was pretty sure he’d kill anyone who dared kiss that which was his. Not that Merlin belonged to him, just, well… you get it. 

Point was, it mattered. So much. So very, very much. He wasn’t going to ruin or risk it by jumping into things. That’s where Gwaine had gone wrong. He’d jumped into sex, thinking it was all he wanted from the man before him. Arthur was far more patient. Cunning. He knew that if he wanted Merlin… playing the long con was the way to go. He would court him, he decided, stretching as he sat. Not noticeably, he wouldn’t give the game away. But he’d be bolder. Freer with his affections. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d bottled up, keeping away out of respect for Gwaine and Merlin’s pseudo relationship. 

And yes, they had bigger fish to fry. Arthur still hadn’t become the person he needed to, that his kingdom needed him to be. But he was so, so tired of restricting himself so terribly. Of holding back. 

He wasn’t ashamed to admit, in the dim light of Merlin’s bedroom, staring down at the sleepy form of the man he so desperately loved, that he wanted the prince so frantically, so all encompassing. Merlin was just so… well. _Merlin_. Beautiful, kind, emotional, funny, silly, adorable, sweet, loving… like, the list went on and on. 

And he had some bad traits. Arthur knew that. He was stubborn. Fickle. Indecisive. Overly emotional. Quick to rile. Could be callus and cruel, when he chose to be. More that he likely wasn’t think of in the moment. But those weren’t flaws, Arthur felt, smiling helplessly as sleepy eyes blinked up at him, adorable pout on his too pink lips. They were just… character traits. Things that made him more interesting. Exciting. 

He had no idea where this would lead them. If it would crash and burn, or if it would save them all. The one thing he knew, as he quickly changed back into the previous day’s clothes, light blush on his cheeks as he remembered his gall as he stripped slowly for the prince’s eyes only, was that he was so very excited to see where this all would lead. He wouldn’t burden Merlin with a new relationship. Not now, not when he had so much on his plate. When both of them had so much on their plate. But he could lighten the load, could give him something nice, something good to hold onto. 

Like… friends plus. Not quite friends. Not quite lovers. Was there a word for that? Best friends didn’t quite have the right ring to it. Platonic lovers? Hmm, definitely not. He supposed it didn’t matter. Labels were meaningless when feelings were involved. To him, at least. 

Regardless, he felt his heart race as Merlin sat up, sleep rumpled and adorable. He longed to cross the mere feet between them, to weave his hand into the silky locks and tug, watching with heavy eyes as Merlin gasped, pink lips falling open, wide and pretty and-

Okay. Point was, he wanted. So badly. But he couldn’t. Not then. Not while they had so much to do. They couldn’t afford to be distracted now. 

But they could allow themselves to get closer. To lean on one another. To rely on one another. The Dragon had told him they were the same coin, after all. They were destined to be close forevermore. If that was something Merlin wanted, which Arthur hoped he did. Arthur was strong enough to prop Merlin up. To be his strength when he felt weak. To be there, a steady anchor, when the world crumbled around him. 

Maybe this was what his destiny had always entailed, he mused, Merlin standing on unsteady feet, grimacing at the frigid stone floor. Supporting Merlin as he fought the rebels, being his bridge over stormy waters. 

Ordinarily, Arthur would be beating himself for his sappy thoughts. For his poetic musings. But he couldn’t help it and didn’t want to help it. This morning was so removed from reality that he never wanted to go back to the real world if this fantasy one was so very nice. A fantasy where he could let the love that he held in his heart free, not fearing rejection or pain or heartbreak. He’d always been so careful with his heart, guarding it even against the ones he loved so fiercely. It was, he privately admitted, one of the reasons he and Gwen had never worked. He had always blamed Lancelot, but he knew the only reason Gwen turned to another was because he couldn’t offer the girl the emotional support she truly needed. He tried, but he just… had a mental block. 

He didn’t, here. In this moment. In the moment as Merlin pouted at him, whining about something silly. About breakfast or something. He was glad that no one was coming with new news about the rebels, the morning strangely peaceful. He wanted it to last forever; though this, too, would fade. It might be hard to remember, even, in the coming days, how peaceful this moment had felt. 

Despite himself, despite how he tried to fight it, Arthur couldn’t help the way his body gravitated towards Merlin, arms wrapping around the man before he could tell himself to stop. If he even could have stopped if he tried. He felt Merlin freeze in his arms for a split second, before he melted, head slotting onto his shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his waist. He didn’t know why he had felt the intense desire to hold Merlin close, but he couldn’t help it. Though, maybe that was a bit of a lie. He’d always felt the desire to hold Merlin. He just wasn’t able to deny it at the moment. 

“This is nice,” the prince mumbled against him, stiffening as soon as the words were released. Like he regretted them. Arthur just held him tighter and pressed his lips to the inky hair under his chin, humming in agreement. He knew that Merlin was the same height as him, so he logically knew it must be uncomfortable for the man to scrunch himself up in such a way. But the prince didn’t seem to mind, melting like butter against him, a high-pitched keen released from his throat. And he certainly wasn’t about to complain. It felt so nice to wrap his arms around the other man. Why had he denied both of them this sensation for over a year now? He was a fool. An utter fool. 

Eventually he had to pull back as a knock sounded on the door, at last. Merlin stiffened but pulled back regardless. Arthur mourned the loss of his warmth, even as crossed the room to open the door to see who it was. 

It was a guard, eyes blank as he informed Arthur that the king requested Merlin’s presence. Of course he did, Arthur thought bitterly, but nodded. He watched as the guard left, before turning back to Merlin, who was already sighing and heading over to his wardrobe. Arthur made a note to have some food sent to the courtroom before the meeting began, since the prince hadn’t had anything to eat yet. 

“I suppose I better see what’s happening now,” Merlin stared listlessly, shrugging off his sleep shirt and trousers without a care. Arthur moved forward, like a magnet, and helped the man as he put on his court robes. Merlin didn’t complain like he usually would have, just let Arthur do his thing, only a soft sigh showcasing his mild displeasure. 

“It’s a sunny day today,” Arthur commented, looking out the window that Merlin had opened with a thought. A small breeze was blowing into the room, the chill pleasant in the toasty room. Merlin hummed. “Once court is over, we should head out. Have our picnic.”

Merlin let out a noise of complaint, but Arthur just shook his head, soft smile on his lips. 

“Hush. Your duties can wait an hour. It’s not good to work yourself to death, _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and stuck out his (tantalizing) tongue but said nothing in opposition. Silence reigned for several minutes until the man was finally dressed, shifting the crown on his head with a frown. 

“I will likely have to make rounds of the lower town first. But… but after. During the afternoon. I would… well, I would be honored to join you on a picnic, by the lake. If you’d like that,” Merlin muttered, cheeks bright red. It was terribly endearing. Arthur tried to stifle his laugh but knew he failed as Merlin glared at him. 

“Well, I was the one to invite you, wasn’t I?” He teased, grin wide on his face. Merlin scowled with exaggerated anger, though his eyes danced with mirth. 

“Well, if you’re going to be like that, now I don’t want to go,” Merlin declared, pouting adorably. Arthur felt his grin widen. He wrapped his arms around the prince (helpless to stop himself. Not that he wanted to, mind), and pouted exaggeratedly back. 

“Oh, don’t be like that, my prince. I’m sorry,” he crooned, eyes wide and innocent. Merlin couldn’t help but burst out laughing, which had been Arthur’s intent. Smiling like the cat that got the canary, Arthur stepped back and smiled smugly. 

“You are such a prat,” Merlin exclaimed, though his eyes shone. So much better than the dim hopelessness that had filled them after the guard’s appearance, he privately felt. 

Oh, how he longed to kiss Merlin, who wore that soft, private smile on his face. A smile meant only for him. He wanted to kiss him until they both were breathless and panting, aching with want and desire, pleading for release. 

One day, he promised himself. One day he’d know what that glorious mouth tasted like. One day he would claim that endless skin as his own. One day he would be able to call Merlin _his_ , only his. 

Until then, he promised, he would stand by the prince’s side. He’d support him and build him up, silently if he had to. He’d be the steady pillar he needed as the foundation beneath his feet shifted and crumbled. 

After all. 

There was more to love than just kisses. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

Court lasted a long time. 

Arthur was starting to get nervous as the hours ticked away and the courtroom had yet to adjourn. It must be serious, today. Likely going over the death count. Arthur pushed the thought away, stomach churning. 

Despite the words he had told to Merlin all those months ago, he honestly had no idea if his father was involved in everything or not. He’d been pestering Morgana so much about any other visions she might have seen that the girl had promised to castrate him in his sleep if he asked even one more time. Knowing not to take her threats lightly, he listened, though he was still uneasy. 

Before all this, he had thought maybe the rebels weren’t so bad. After all, he privately understood their point. As much as he loved and trusted Merlin, Balinor was another creature altogether. He probably trusted Balinor as far as he could throw him, and while Arthur was strong, Balinor seemed pretty sturdy to him. Back when all the rebels did was vandalize, it had almost seemed tame. Simple. He’d hated how it ate away at Merlin, how it tore Merlin away from him, but it hadn’t seemed, you know. Serious. 

This, however. This was. 

He was not the biggest fan of magical people. Don’t mistake him, now. He had suffered enough under magical hands to know he could never truly like or trust the vast majority of magical people. But to kill them? Outright, straight up, kill them? 

No. He didn’t approve of that. It wasn’t… well, it wasn’t right. 

He did wonder how they managed to attack a magical town, though. After all, if it was the rebels, he doubted they would attack a non-magical town. Unless…

Well, unless Balinor was lying and the attack was fake, done to stir up anger towards the rebels. 

It was possible. He’d honestly thought of it, when Balinor had informed Merlin of it the night before. However… the look in the king’s eyes. The suppressed panic and rage. The hidden fear. If he had created the attack to trick people into hating the rebels, he was a damn good liar. 

Regardless, Arthur was left waiting, restless, as the hours ticked away. He’d already sent for a picnic lunch to be curated for later, smiling handsomely at the cook as he enticed her to pack a nice meal into a picnic basket for the prince for later, after he’d requested she send him a small breakfast to the courtroom. The cook had given him a knowing look, but begrudgingly agreed. He’d smiled winsomely, thanking the cantankerous woman profusely. He could have sworn he saw her blush, even as she rolled her eyes and threatened him with her spoon if he didn’t stop bothering her. Ha. Still had it. 

He had then gone to Freya, having likely spent more time around the young woman than Merlin did those day. 

Usually they spoke about Merlin. About how worried they both were about him, about how wane he looked. Occasionally Freya would grumble about something Morgana did that bothered her, causing Arthur to hum in sympathy. After all, who knew better than him Morgana’s nasty streak? He knew that Freya loved his sister (god knew why,) and that Morgana loved her back. But even if you love someone with all your heart, the other person can still annoy you to no end. He’d learned that often over the past year and a half. 

It honestly was very girly, like two gossiping housewives, but he didn’t mind too much. Freya was good company. 

That day, however, he had a request. He’d complained to the girl frequently how stressed Merlin was, the girl sharing in his worry. When he asked her, that day, if she would be able to convince the king to let Merlin have the afternoon off so they could go out together (leaving out the part about the picnic, not wanting the girl to read too much into things), her eyes had shined and she’d thrown her arms around him tightly. 

“You are amazing for him, thank you,” she’s breathed. He was stunned even as he tentatively placed his arms around the girl. He… hadn’t really done anything?? Still, he had smiled bemusedly and thanked her. Luckily, she agreed and promised that Merlin would have more than enough time off.

Now it was a couple hours until lunch time, Merlin still wanting to do his rounds before they would be able to leave the citadel, and the man was still trapped in the meeting. 

Just as he was about to start worrying, feeling his feet itching to pace back and forth, the doors opened and the members of Court spilled out, muttering darkly to one another. Gaius was one of the last to exit, the man not an official Court member, but often being requested to join to share his opinion about various diseases or health risks. Gaius looked highly concerned, eyes tight and distant. He still smiled, though, when he saw Arthur. It was tight, though. Troubled. 

“Gaius. What’s going on?” He questioned, voice low to stop anyone from overheating. Gaius sighed, looking around. 

“I can’t tell you here. Later,” Gaius promised. Arthur growled, frustrated. 

“Gaius,” Arthur warned, eyes flashing. Gaius exhaled, rolling his eyes dramatically. 

“It’s a matter of security, Arthur. Besides, I’m sure Merlin will tell you all about it later. Now, do you care to explain to me why you never came home last night? Hmm? I was worried, you know.”

Face blushing bright red, Arthur looked down, mumbling something incoherent. He didn’t even know what, something about it not being the older man’s business. Gaius hummed. 

“That’s what I thought. I should get going. The king has requested I make several potions and I seem to have lost my apprentice,” Gaius chided, eyes staring at him with meaning. Arthur suddenly felt bad. With how busy Merlin had been, Arthur rarely had time to help the older man out as he followed the prince on his wild goose chases. He opened his mouth to apologize, promises on his tongue that he would try harder to find time, when Gaius tutted. “Oh, I don’t mind. I understand your situation. Still, I should get going. And please, Arthur. Spare an old man his worry and at least have Merlin send a charm letting me know you’re with him next time, will you?”

Before Arthur could splutter out a denial, Gaius waltzed away, humming innocently under his breath. Arthur scowled. Bastard. He’d headed back to his room earlier to change clothes, before coming to wait for Merlin, so at least the older man didn’t see him wearing the same outfit he’d worn the day before. That would have been even more awkward. 

It still took several more minutes before Merlin finally slunk out, eyes dark and worried. It made Arthur’s heart clench to see. Sadly, he couldn’t do anything while in public, guards all around. Couldn’t go up to the boy and wrap him in a warm embrace like he longed to, holding tight until that dark look in his eyes faded. He settled on a soft smile, eyes full of the emotion he couldn’t express. He liked to think Merlin noticed, as the boy looked up and smiled at Arthur slightly. It didn’t erase the worry in his eyes, but he looked slightly happier, which he considered a win in his books. 

“What shall we do now, sire,” he questioned softly, as respectful as he could possibly be. Merlin hummed, shrugging. 

“Father wants me to head into the lower town and begin to hand out supplies and gather news on how the townspeople are taking the news of the lockdown. From there, I’m to begin an investigation of the castle staff. I… I’m going to have to search your room. I have no doubt that you would never have illegal items, but in case you do… don’t.”

Arthur almost wanted to laugh, but reined it in, nodding solemnly instead. 

“Perhaps...” he muttered, as quietly as he could, lips beside Merlin’s ear as the pair began to walk out. He outwardly ignored the shudder Merlin gave, but inwardly was extremely pleased. “Perhaps we could head out before the investigation. I’ve requested Freya talk to the king, to allow you some time off. I understand if you say no, but-“

“No,” Merlin stated, making Arthur’s heart drop. The prince grimaced before shaking his head sharply. “I meant, _yes_ , I think that would work. As long as I finish my duty in the lower town before noon, I should be able to sneak away for an hour. But only an hour, Arthur. No more,” he warned, though a smile had made its way on his face. Arthur smiled softly back, before turning away, face expressionless as they passed some guards and wandering Nobles. The Nobles tried to get Merlin’s attention, but he’d smiled tightly and claimed he was on important business from the king, sorry. 

After that Arthur trailed after the prince, watching as he dealt with the townspeople, smiling sweetly at the little old ladies who were worried about family who lived outside the citadel, or humming sympathetically at the mothers who worried about the food they had left for their children to eat. No matter what anyone might say about Merlin and his qualities of being a good prince, he truly was amazing around his people. It was clear how much they all loved and trusted him, as he was even handed an infant child once, a woman so emotional with fear for her eldest son, who had gone off on a trip to a distant village to visit a friend and had not returned before the citadel was closed, that she had burst into tears and wasn’t able to hold the child without fear of dropping it. Merlin looked strangely good, holding an infant, though his eyes were wide as he tried to keep the thing from fussing. 

It thankfully hadn’t taken long, though, the entire thing done before the sun had reached its zenith. Storm clouds were brewing on the horizon, promising rain later that evening, but for now it was bright sunshine. Hopefully the rain would hold out until after they had returned back to the castle so they wouldn’t get drenched again that night.

Arthur then headed to the kitchen by himself to get the picnic basket Cook had packed for him, her eyes rolling when he thanked her sweetly, though her cheeks grew slightly ruddier. He honestly didn’t know if he should be proud or freaked out, but he pushed it out of his mind as he rushed to the area Merlin had told him to meet at. 

His heart began to race as he reached the location, a small tunnel beneath the castle. Merlin was waiting for him, smile on his face. 

“I’ve spoken to father. He says it’s fine for me to take the hour off for lunch. I think Freya spoke with him; he had that look on his face he always has when Freya begged him for something when we were kids. A slightly put upon but fond look,” Merlin stated as Arthur rounded the corner, smile bright on his face. There was still some tension in his shoulders, but Arthur was determined to make that tension fade away before the hour was out. 

Arthur followed Merlin as they slunk through the small tunnel, Merlin knowing the way to go expertly. They eventually reached a small gate, but Merlin just took out one of his magic keys and unlocked it, the thing opening without complaint. Benefits of being prince, Arthur thought, pleased. 

The pair were careful as they slid through the forest, Merlin loosening more and more the further they walked from the castle. Finally, after about ten minutes, the pair ended up in front of the lake, Merlin looking more relaxed than he had in months. Brilliant. This had been a wonderful idea. 

The ground was still slightly damp from the rain the previous night and early morning, but Merlin muttered some words and the ground dried. At least in the area Arthur spread the blanket out over. The air was cold, the late February day nippy, but Merlin muttered another spell and the air warmed significantly. Not too much to be toasty, but warm enough that he was no longer shivering lightly. God. Magic was a wonder sometimes. 

Arthur carefully unpacked the food he’d requested from Cook, smiling lightly as he noticed she’d added a decadent chocolate cake as a dessert. And a bottle of wine, he noted, eyebrow raised. Okay. Perhaps he was a little too obvious in his affections for the prince. Oops 

Merlin hummed happily as Arthur set out the spread, gasping when he saw the cake. Arthur grinned. Merlin had always loved the chocolate cake Cook made, enthusing over it whenever the older woman had treated him with its decadence. Arthur didn’t blame him. The first time he’d tried the chocolate cake he’d almost orgasmed, it was so fucking good. So much sweeter than anything he’d ever eaten, yet also so bitter and rich. He’d never had chocolate before, so he had no way to expect how it would taste. Merlin had turned bright red at the indecent sound Arthur had let out, eyes hazy as his mouth had opened in shock. Just remembering the look on the prince’s face was making Arthur feel indecent himself, so he cleared his throat and kept setting up the meal, pouring a healthy amount of wine in the glasses Cook had provided them, ignoring the questioning look Merlin gave him.

It was when he had finished setting up and sat down on one of the pillows he had packed that he began to feel nervous. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized how much this, well… felt like a date. He’d never really gone on many dates, him and Gwen mostly just pussyfooting around one another, though he had manned up enough to take her out a few times. This, though… this felt so similar, and yet so different to those few times. Better, if he was being honest. Incredible. 

Merlin had a soft blush on his face, though he was smiling brightly at Arthur, eyes shining in the noonday sun. It was intoxicating. He took a sip of his wine, savoring the bitter liquid as it took a little of the edge off his intense feelings. It was like a whole herd of butterflies had just burst from cocoons and were writhing in his chest. It was unbearably unpleasant, yet at the same time so utterly incredible. 

“Come on. You, uh. Should eat something. I know you didn’t have much for breakfast, after all,” Arthur finally stated, wincing a little at the unromantic words. He wasn’t trying to woo Merlin, per se, but still. Jeez, man. 

Merlin just rolled his eyes, a teasing grin rising on his face. 

“And whose fault is that, hmm? My lousy manservant forgot to get me my food this morning,” Merlin sniffed, nose dramatically in the air, in a scarily accurate mimic of the haute Nobles. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh, even as he took another sip of the rich wine. Merlin laughed too, cheeks rosy once again. 

“Hey! I remembered to have Cook send you a little something before the meeting, at least. And sorry for my forgetfulness. I was a little distracted this morning,” he leered, grin wide and sharp. Merlin rolled his eyes, even as he smiled and blushed in response. 

After that Merlin accepted the food Arthur gave to him, rolling his eyes but smiling so wide it must hurt. He didn’t drink much of his wine (likely a good thing, Arthur remembering how quickly the man became drunk the one and only time they’d drunk heavily together. He’d been more drunk than Arthur and Arthur had drunk at _least_ ten shots of whisky in less than an hour. He was such a lightweight), but he devoured the cake, barely leaving any for Arthur. Arthur had shouted in faux anger, secure that no one would hear them with Merlin’s silencing charm, but Merlin had just laughed. Then Arthur had smeared some of the cake on Merlin’s nose and had to resist the temptation to lick it off. It had still been strangely erotic watching Merlin go cross eyed as he tried to lick it with his long, pink tongue. Hm. His mind went to a dark place as he mused all the things that tongue could do to him...

All in all, it was a nice afternoon. Once the food was gone the men just chatted, Merlin doing most of the talking as he enthused about this or that. He was usually a chatterbox, but alcohol loosened his tongue even more. Arthur didn’t care. He was enjoying himself immensely, lounging against one of the pillows he had brought, smiling a besotted smile as the man ranted about bees, of all things. 

“They’re just so small! But cute! But deadly! I want to hold them and pet them, but if I do they sting me! How is that fair, Arthur? How?”

He was struggling so hard not to laugh, but his face was aching with the smile he wore. 

This was perfect, to him. Yes, maybe part of him still longed to lean over and kiss Merlin, to ravish him and claim the man as his. But honestly? If he never got to kiss Merlin? If this was the best he ever got? If they never, not once, not even when this whole thing was over, did anything passed cuddling?

He wouldn’t actually mind. 

Maybe that was strange. And maybe he’d change his mind, over time. But maybe not. Because, well… he was sure sex was good and all, but he’d never had it. He was sure he could live without it (though his hand would get a lot of company…). Sure, it would be nice. Part of him ached for it, deep inside, if he was being honest. But this? Being with Merlin, no consequences, no worries, no fear? Loving him freely, openly, even if he had never said the words? And being shown, at the very least, affection and adoration in return? 

It was worth more than any sexual act ever could. 

Honestly. He firmly believed that, as he watched Merlin lean back and laugh, the tension and anxiety from earlier faded completely in light of their… well, their date. Knowing that he was cause of that happiness, that he had turned the man from a screaming pile of rage the previous night, back into his normal, happy-go-lucky self? It was better than any potion, any drug; any sensation he’d ever felt. 

Could sex really be better than this feeling? 

(Well. Maybe if he could have sex _and_ this feeling, it would be even more perfect. But Arthur wasn’t a greedy man. He’d learned long ago, after hours and hours of toiling work in the fields. After months of hunger and starvation. He had learned to appreciate the little things. The small miracles, as his mother called them. And this? Having Merlin, happy and healthy, in any form? It was more than a small miracle. So he wouldn’t be greedy. He wouldn’t dare ask for more. And if he somehow, one day, got more? Then he’d be thankful and grateful then. But he wouldn’t let his happiness die just because he yearned for more. He’d spent enough years miserable to learn that.)

“You look so serious. Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?” Merlin mused, bringing Arthur’s attention back on him. He opened his mouth to say that yes, _Mer_ lin, of course he had been listening, except, well. He realized he actually didn’t have any idea what Merlin had been talking about. He remembered the bees, and the conversation switching to flowers, but he’d somehow tuned out at some point, the man’s chatter washing over him completely. It wasn’t really that he wasn’t listening. It was that the words said didn’t matter. 

Wait, no! He didn’t mean it like… ugh, he thought mentally, shaking his head. He _meant_ that it hadn’t been the words he was focusing on, but the meaning. The tone. The happy lilt, the flushed cheeks. The bell-like laugh, tinkling in the soft breeze that was pleasantly cool in Merlin’s bubble, not frigid like he was sure it was outside this slice of heaven. He had been so focused on what truly mattered that he hadn’t been listening to the words spoken. That wasn’t what was important, to him. Maybe that was rude, but he honestly felt that. 

God. He was such a besotted, enamored fool, wasn’t he? Christ. There was a time he’d have clammed up at the thought and stormed out, insulting Merlin to regain his masculinity. 

Yet…

Yet he couldn’t forget the heartbroken look on the prince’s face the previous night. The sorrow. The intense pain. He could see it so vividly, even as Merlin looked at him fondly, so tender it hurt. He couldn’t lose that, he realized, eyes wide. He’d do anything to keep that look on the man’s face. To keep him unburdened. Untethered. 

Happy. 

Loved. 

God. Arthur felt a rush of panic flood him at that moment, shrugging at Merlin and flopping onto his back to look at the sky, stomach roiling. 

He’d never loved someone so much. Not even his own mother. He’d always kept himself distant, keeping a barrier between him and the ones he loved. It had hurt Gwen, he knew. Hurt Gwaine. It had even hurt himself, at times, though he had no idea how to stop it. He was just so tired of hurting others. Of hurting himself. Of being hurt. 

This could hurt him. God, it could hurt him. The way he felt, for Merlin… it made him ache inside. Made him yearn. Even the thought of Merlin’s pain hurt him inside. He’d do anything. _Anything_. To spare the man that pain. Even tear out his own heart. 

Was that love? Was he in love? Or was he cursed? Oh, God... what if he was cursed? Ensorcelled? What if Merlin-

But no. _No_. Merlin wouldn’t do that to him. Merlin was good, and kind, and loving. 

_Though_ , a voice whispered inside him. _Wouldn’t that be what he’d want you to believe? If he was enchanting you?_

Arthur hesitated, looking up at the clouds that went by. He could feel Merlin settle beside him, silent for the first time that afternoon. Part of him hated it. Wanted to make the man smile and laugh again. To hear those words wash over him. 

But what if it was a trick? A lie? Did people normally feel like this? Was it love? Or was it magic? 

He wished he could ask. Part of him wanted to, even opening his mouth absently, before closing it. Shit. He couldn’t ask _Merlin_. What good would that even do? Idiot. 

But if not Merlin, who? Morgana was strictly out of the question. Hell. No. He’d rather be tortured a thousand years than ask his sister any sort of romantic advice. Freya maybe, but she loved Merlin too much to really be objective. Maybe his mother, but this wasn’t the sort of thing one asked in a letter. Plus, she didn’t know Merlin enough to give a fully unbiased answer, either. 

And the minute he asked that damned Dragon about anything relating love was the minute he handed over his balls and became a woman. Basically, when hell froze over. (Don’t get him wrong, he loved women. Respected many of them. But he had no desire to be one himself, thanks. He liked being a man.) 

Well… there was one person to ask. One person he trusted more than anything, save maybe Merlin himself. One person he viewed like family, though their blood was not shared. 

Gaius. Of course, Gaius. The older man wouldn’t judge him. Yes, he knew Merlin and loved Merlin, so maybe he wouldn’t be completely unbiased, but he trusted the man enough to not lie to or coddle him. Much. He’d be truthful and maybe help him as he tried to figure out how he felt. And he knew both men well enough to understand both sides. He’d know how to help. 

But as for that moment… Arthur looked over at Merlin, who was looking at the sky with a small frown on his face. Arthur’s heart clenched at the expression. Knowing he was the cause of it. Him and his insecurities. It wasn’t even that he didn’t trust Merlin. He did! He really did. It was just, well. Just that he didn’t trust his emotions. He’d never felt like this before. He was confused and scared. Could he trust these feelings? He didn’t know. 

But he wasn’t going to let that ruin their day together. He pushed aside the fear, the part of him that screamed he was being a fool and turned to face Merlin, soft smile on his face. Merlin turned absently to face him, a strained smile on his lips, even as his eyebrows furrowed. Arthur longed for reach out and smooth the wrinkled brow. To erase the worry and fear. 

So, he did. 

Merlin instantly relaxed under his hand, sighing happily as Arthur’s hand moved from his forehead to his cheek, palming the warm skin with a smile on his lips. Merlin hummed happily as his eyes closed, his face pressed firmly against Arthur’s palm. It was so unbelievably sweet and perfect that Arthur ached. It terrified him. He had come to terms with his love before, but this… this was different. This was so Much. So powerful and strong and raw. To think that he could have this… to have and hold... to be given the privilege of being held in high enough regard to see the prince off his pedestal and from behind his wall, seeing the raw and tender person beneath? 

It was impossible. What had he done to earn this? While the world fell apart, as it crumbled. What had he done to earn such happiness?

After all, Gwaine had been right, all those moons ago. To be loved by Merlin was a priceless gift. 

Maybe that’s why he didn’t trust it. Things this good didn’t happen to people like him. To farm boys who were too prideful for their own good. It couldn’t be real. 

Or, even if it was real… he’d find a way to mess it up. He’d squander it. Ruin it. Defile it. 

He didn’t want to ruin Merlin. He couldn’t. 

Arthur held tighter to the man before him and leaned in. He could hear Merlin’s breath hitch, which made his stomach churn. He pressed his forehead to Merlin’s and closed his eyes, allowing himself to just exist. Merlin didn’t rush him. Just sat and hummed softly, the sound so soothing Arthur almost wanted to fall asleep. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he mumbled. He hadn’t even realized he’d said it aloud until Merlin hummed thoughtfully, moving closer to his warm body. 

“I don’t know if anyone does. I think we’re all just, I don’t know. Fumbling around in the dark. Trying to figure out what pleases us. What doesn’t. All we can do, I guess, is… well, try. To be happy. Things are bad outside. Father… he said that five people died in the attack, twenty others injured, some children. I’ll have to deal with that, soon. But for now… all we can hope for is to find some happiness, any happiness, wherever we can. And you… you make me happy, Arthur. You truly do.”

Well, just trample all over the remains of Arthur’s girly heart, why don’t you? 

“You know Merlin, sometimes you surprise me. There are times when you seem almost… but no. Decidedly not,” Arthur mused lightly, even as his heart stuttered and his mind blanked. He wanted to make light of the situation, even as everything in him screamed to be serious for once. It was too much, though. He needed some relief. Or else he’d straight up kiss that wonderful man. Merlin smiled back. 

“Seem like what?” Merlin breathed, teasing smile on his face as he shifted impossibly closer. Arthur struggled to keep his face neutral, even as he longed to hold the other man and never let go. 

“Seem almost, well… wise. Ridiculous, I know. You, wise? Ha!”

Merlin burst out laughing, eyes filled with joy and his smile so warm and happy it burned him. 

“Oh yeah, decidedly not. Me, wise? Where’d you ever get an idea like that? Barmy,” Merlin muttered, shaking his head in faux disappointment. 

The silence that followed was a good one, for once. Easy. Pleasant. 

Eventually, though, the bubble burst. Merlin sighed and sat up, stretching his sore muscles. It was then that he remembered Merlin had only promised him an hour and the hour was almost done. It made him ache deep inside, but maybe it was for the better. Any longer and he’d do something very stupid, like kiss the prince. 

“I wish we could stay here forever. I really, really do. But I’ve got my duties to attend to. Father will be pissed if I don’t. He’d also probably send a search party after me, and that would be no fun. But maybe...” Merlin paused, face uncertain. Arthur hummed softly in encouragement, causing the other man to smile. “Well. I was just thinking maybe we could do this again sometime. Maybe not any time soon, since we’re going to be so busy over the next several weeks. But if we have the chance again. I really, well. Enjoyed it. Being here. With you. I mean, I-”

“I’d love to,” Arthur interjected, before Merlin could ramble any longer and get more and more flustered. Merlin laughed, smiling happily. Arthur smiled back, stomach twisting and turning. Fuck, this was so much. He had to leave or else he’d fall headfirst into these emotions and never be free. If he even wanted to. 

But he had to talk to Gaius first. The man had been married, once, he recalled. She had died years ago, killed by an evil manticore. His heart had broken when Gaius had told him that, after Arthur had curiously asked once if he’d ever been in love, the older man’s eyes filling with sorrow as he told about his love. He’d tried to apologize, feeling callus and cruel, but the man had just smiled sadly and had said it had been a long time ago. It was best to not dwell on the past. 

He would understand what it was like to be in love, though. He just hoped that it wouldn’t hurt the other man too much, to be reminded of his lost loved. Arthur couldn’t even bear the thought of leaving Merlin’s side. He couldn’t even think about the man dying. It killed him to even entertain it. 

So, he took a step back, smiling softly as he picked up their supplies, returning the clearing to its previous state, Merlin’s smile as radiant as the sun. Blinding and so goddamn beautiful he wanted to cry. 

“Soon, I promise. Say the word and we’ll be back here so fast. I swear it.” 

And he meant it. He truly did. Merlin just nodded, his face a mess of happy emotions. He then held out his arm with a flourish, an haute look appearing on his face. 

“May I?” He questioned, eyes bright with humor. Arthur couldn’t help the laugh, though he shook his head and held out his arm instead, meaning obvious. Like hell would he be the girl in their relationship. Merlin just sniffed, like the Royal prat he was, before daintily placing his hand on Arthur’s forearm, so light he barely felt it. Arthur grinned and turned his hand, so he was able to interlock their fingers, heart pounding at the shocked (but so very happy) look on his friend’s face. 

After that, the pair headed back to Camelot. And if their hands were clasped tight, all the way until they reached the end of the tunnel and back into the citadel proper, well. 

It was their little secret. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This note was written back when I first wrote this chapter, just FYI. That's why it's like, super long. Sorry!)
> 
> Okay! Before I go into my actual end author note, can someone tell me what lake is the Lake of Avalon??? Because I had thought it was the lake outside Camelot, where Merlin saw the Sidhe. But then, in Excalibur, the Great Dragon yelled that Merlin should bring the sword as far away as he could, where no one could find it, and so he threw the sword in the lake. Is that the same lake???? If so, how is that as far away from the castle as he possibly could find??? It’s literally right outside!! You can walk there!!! Merlin often did!!! Also, didn’t he need Kilgra- whatever I don’t want to look up his name’s help when getting it at the end of season three? Because it was so far away? I’m confused. So, I’m not naming the lake they go to, though I’m pretty sure it is the Lake of Avalon. Unless the lake isn’t close to Camelot??? Who the hell knows; geography was never my strong suit. 
> 
> If it’s not, then they’re at a different lake. One near the castle. I’ll just invent a lake for my story. Why not. Hell, have a whole mountain or two. Towns and streams. For the hell of it. Little did y’all know that Camelot was built on the back of a giant turtle named George, who is slow but steady, and will give you mind powers if you tickle his hidden third nostril. Because why the hecks not? It was just never mentioned in Merlin because it wasn’t important to the story.
> 
> Now. Onto the real author’s note. I made Gaius a widower since I just saw the episode with Alice and realized he’d have married her, had Uther not had his ban. But I’d not written that he was married and couldn’t really retcon it. So, she tragically died when Merlin was ten, the manticore killing her when she refused to do its evil bidding. They never had children, for whatever reason. Sorry Alice. 
> 
> Also, I fear I’m making Arthur too soft. In the show he was very forward, willing to kiss and court Gwen, damn the consequences. I like to think this version of Arthur is far humbler, though, and knows that some things take time. And that rushing into the fray is not always the best option. Since he was on equal standing with the Knights, and Morgana, and Gwen, it was easier to listen to them when they called him an idiot or foolish. So, he was able to grow more. Plus, I’m a hopeless romantic, despite my possibly aromantic status. 
> 
> Final thing. Merlin and Arthur are in a kind of relationship now. Neither of them will really call it that, nor will they fully accept that the other loves them as fiercely as they love the other, but they are in love and are courting, in a sense. But don’t discount this relationship they’ve fallen into just because it has no name. It is important, to both of them. I’ll show Merlin’s perspective of this whole thing next chapter, so you can see his thoughts on the matter. But, as the psychologist in me wants to point out, there are more kinds of love than just romantic ones. Some are even more powerful than various kinds of romantic love. It just depends. 
> 
> So, while they’re not in a romantic relationship (yet), they are in an intense one with real feelings. And don’t mistake me; it’s not a romantic relationship, not at the moment. So... yeah. The boys are still hopelessly pining. But they’re happy. 
> 
> For now. :-) 


	22. Heirloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahahaha. 
> 
> Life is hella chaotic, y'all!!! The kids I babysit started school, and my job has shifted from babysitting, to legit sitting with them while they do Zoom to try and keep them sane. The eldest (10) is typically fine on her own, but the two youngest (5 and 8) are struggling and it's tough. The middle child flat out refused to do her zoom meeting yesterday because she was ten minutes late and was convinced her teacher would hate her. The youngest consistently is near tears by the halfway point. And they only had one hour of zoom this week. Next week it goes up to 3, minimum. Ahhhhhhhhh. And all of that, on top of my regular job, as an after school teacher, which has shifted to virtual learning. Next week we start our curriculum, which seems easy enough, but with 20+ kids all together in a meeting I'm.... Ahhhhhhh!
> 
> Anyway! This chapter. I legit have no idea what's going on in this story at this point, I have no time to go in and check. All my spare time is used trying to preserve my sanity. I have been steadily writing my Drarry story, though, when I find the time, which is nice. I learned from my mistakes with this story (I.E. the parts that make me dislike it) and I'm hoping (!!!!) it's working, but who knows. Regardless, I hope y'all like this chapter, I have no idea what is going on. But! It seems that no one else knows where the Lake of Avalon is, either, from last chapter. So I think I'm good with saying that lake they went to was the Lake of Avalon. 
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the song Heirloom, by Sleeping at Last. Great song, from a great band. Truly recommend Sleeping at Last as a band, by the by. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> (Oh wait! I remember this chapter now! It gets a bit heavy, and so I wrote a summary of it back when I wrote it and put it in at the end, in case anyone wants to skip it, I guess?? I wrote summaries of chapters and I don't really remember why. But! They're written, so why not share them, ey?) 
> 
> (SECOND OH: I read my summary (prolly should have done that first, oops. I'd redo this note, but honestly, I'm so tired at this point, whatever.) This chapter happens before/at the same time as the last chapter. This is what happened in Court that made Merlin so upsetti. Also, is court the right word for this?? I think I had been looking for the word "council," couldn't find it, and called it Court instead. Now I'm too lazy to change it. Meh.)

He had no idea what was going on. In general, but also personally. There was just so much. And it was so conflicting.

For the most part, he had the rebel attacks to deal with. He’d been around death before. Had even caused it, a handful of times. He’d seen lives be taken and had taken them himself. Yet, hearing as the members of Court discussed the most recent attack, which they had managed to contain (but still capture almost no one. Only two people, but both bit the poison packet before they could stop them)... it was terrifying. 

Five dead. Four men and one woman. All magical, to some degree, though one of them was more a magician than anything. Could do parlor tricks, but not much else. It was enough to gain him some degree of respect, but not enough to make him actually respected. 

It had been enough to get him killed, apparently. 

Over twenty others had also been injured. A few children, too. All were magical. They lived in a fairly well mixed town, about seven hundred people, with half magic, half not. The attack had been calculated. Measured. They had deliberately attacked the magical citizens, sparing the non-magical ones. 

That had made it clear. This was a war. They were willing to fight and fight hard for their cause. 

Merlin didn’t know if he should hate them or not. On one hand, they were causing needless death, harming people who had done no wrong. His people. 

On the other…

Wasn’t that technically also true of his own father? 

He really didn’t know what made him sicker. The news of the attack, or how the members of the Court had wanted to handle it. He’d listened in horror as some of the older members of Court demanded retribution. They had wanted to make an example of the non-magical members of the town and show Camelot what would happen if they rebelled. The younger (though not by much, as the next youngest beside him was forty-two) members weren’t much better, nodding and agreeing, then adding that they should kill several of them, any who seemed to be in league with the rebels. Seemed, he should emphasize. No proof. 

Like… dear god. 

Luckily, ever since his twenty-first birthday, when he’d become the crown prince, he had more clout in Court. Was able to share his opinions and have been actually listened to, unlike when he’d been younger, and he’d mostly been ignored. Plus, his father seemed to actually care about his counsel for once, so he was allowed to speak his mind. 

He had to be careful, though. Members of Court had notoriously low tolerances for what they called ‘Disrespect,’ so he had to word his counter carefully enough to not offend, even though part of him longed to go ‘what the hell is wrong with you people?!’ 

Instead, he had said, “most esteemed members of Court, perhaps it might be best to reconsider? All retaliation will do will anger the rebels more. It will give them fuel to strike back, harder this time. We don’t know anything about them yet, don’t know who their leader is. We should wait for any form of retaliation until we know more about their group and can see if a compromise can’t be made.”

It was a good thing he was the crown prince, or else he was sure he’d have been laughed out of Court. Luckily, none of the Court members, even the oldest of the bunch (and didn’t this gall them?) had as much sway as even a young crown prince had. So, they said nothing, even as they glared at him and thought of polite retorts. The king beat them, though. 

“The likelihood of negotiations is very slim, Prince Merlin. Now that they have taken blood, I fear no compromise would even be possible. To do so would be an act of weakness.”

Merlin had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting how wrong that was. He’d been going to Court for long enough to know that he had to be calm and collected. Two things he rarely was, but had to pretend to be. Great. But this was important. He might be the only hope for lessening the bloodshed. 

“I respectfully disagree,” he claimed after a few seconds, causing the older Court members to murmur. He kept going despite their nasty looks. “I think that if we show mercy here, they may realize we wish for peace. A wise man once told me that if the option of peace is available, you should always choose it. We cannot afford a war with an enemy we do not understand.”

“And whose fault is it that we don’t understand them?” A voice piped in, causing the Court to murmur in agreement. Merlin couldn’t even begin to feel embarrassed when his father’s voice boomed out. 

“My own,” he asserted, eyes hard on the Court members. They all shrunk down, too spineless to face the king. “Since I have been spearheading the investigations. If you have a problem with the way we are running our investigations, please, speak up now.”

No one spoke up, obviously, though a few still glared at him. Merlin just stared coolly back, until they looked away, flushed with anger. 

“We can’t afford to be weak, though,” an older Court member claimed after a few moments, feeling brave. He was actually one of the nicer Court members, so Merlin was more inclined to listen. “No offense meant, my prince, but these are acts of war. We cannot show them mercy when they have so obviously thrown down a gauntlet for battle. If we do not show our strength here, we leave ourselves open for further attacks, from different rebellion groups even. I’m sorry, my prince, but what else could we do?”

It was frustrating being the youngest person in the room sometimes. It was hard to get his thoughts across without seeming young and naive. But he wasn’t naive. He understood what the Court was saying. He just didn’t think war was the best option for their people. 

“Again, I respectfully disagree. If we show our strength, we show these rebels we are everything they think we are, and more. We do not know if anyone in that village was involved in the attack. They might be completely innocent. If we can find evidence that they knew about the attack in advanced, then I would agree we should show our strength, though it still would not be my first choice. But we do not know. By attacking them, we are attacking innocent people who have done nothing wrong. We become the villains the rebels are rising against. Is that the image we want to portray to our citizens? Strength and might, but no compassion? No heart? I don’t know about you, but I always saw Camelot as a just and fair kingdom. To punish these people for acts out of their hands would be cruel and unjust. That is what would lead to more rebellions. Not any show of mercy we might show.”

“I believe you are correct, Prince Merlin,” Gaius called out, voice loud and clear in the rising din of Court members clamoring to talk first and get the spotlight. The king waved his hand at Gaius, giving him the floor. Gaius smiled at Merlin kindly, a sort of pride in his eyes as he looked at him. It made him warm inside. Like he’d made Gaius proud with his words. 

“Strength for the sake of strength does nothing. We can claim to be strong, but if we lack compassion and mercy, we are nothing but a tyranny, not a fair kingdom. Retaliating death with more death will only increase the death count. It will do nothing to dissuade the rebels from further attacks, nor will it keep our kingdom safe. We should try peace first, resorting to war only as a last resort.”

“Or,” an older member of Court chimed in quickly before the rest, a cantankerous old man who felt no joy in his miserable life, Merlin felt, “we leave ourselves open for further attacks! These people are our enemies. You claim these villagers are innocent, but then why has they never embraced our rule? They refuse to learn magic, refuse to accept our way of life. Why should we show them any mercy? They wouldn’t show us mercy if the tables were turned. We have no reason to be merciful now.”

“But the tables aren’t turned!” Merlin shouted, chagrined a second later when his father raised an eyebrow at him. Fuck. He needed to calm himself. Taking a deep breath, he smiled brittlely at the old fools. “I apologize for my tone. I simply meant that we are the ones in charge here. It doesn’t matter what they would or wouldn’t do. We have the power and it is up to us to choose what to do with it. Unless you feel we are slaves to their theoretical decision?”

Merlin paused for a second, for effect, but plowed on when others opened their mouths to talk. He wasn’t done. 

“We aren’t. We are Camelot. We are proud and mighty. We cannot punish people for things out of their control. It is not always a choice to not do magic. Some people simply aren’t born with magic within them. How can we claim to be fair, to be just, while condemning people for something out of their control? It would be like killing people for having blue eyes. Or black hair. Tell me, how is that just?”

“So, you don’t agree with our laws, then? The laws that your father, long live his reign, put into place for our safety? Is that what you are saying, my prince?” 

Fuck. Goddammit. That hadn’t been what he was intending to say (though he did believe it), but now he was forced to come up with a diplomatic answer when all he wanted to do was scream YES! Bloody _yes_. He hated the laws, though he would uphold them out of duty and honor as long as his father was king. But as soon as he became king, should the day arrive, he was doing away with those laws. Consequences be damned. But he couldn’t say that here. He had to be careful or he’d lose everyone’s support. And, he noticed as he looked around, he actually seemed to be swaying a handful of people. Not much, but if he could get his words across well enough…

“Of course not, your grace. I simply meant that it would be unjust to enforce our laws when they’d not been transgressed. After all, we don’t know if the townspeople were involved. Our laws dictate that any person who uses swordplay against another would be criminally charged. However, none of the townspeople did such a thing. Nor did they consort with a known rebel group, to our knowledge. If we can find evidence that they did such a thing, we’d be well within our right to strike back. But if we cannot find such evidence, it is an unjust attack that goes against the morals and laws of Camelot. Do you think yourself so powerful to go against our very laws?” 

He hadn’t meant to add the last part, but it gave him some satisfaction to see the look on the duke’s face. 

“No offense meant, my prince,” the duke spat, offense lacing his every word, “but our laws are there to keep us safe. It is not going against them to wish for the safety of Camelot.”

“No,” Merlin agreed, “it is not. So why are you suggesting we harm innocent citizens when they did nothing wrong? Non-magical people are as much citizens of Camelot as magical people. They deserve at least the bare minimum of security our laws provide. I understand that they would have us killed if they were in our shoes. But they are not. We are. We have the power to choose who we wish to be. Do we want to be a kingdom, ruled by fear and anger? Or do we want to be a powerful kingdom, rich with diversity and fairness? It comes down to the kind of Camelot you wish to live in. And I, for one, don’t want to live in a Camelot that doles out unfair punishment to those who have not earned it.” 

The room exploded with noise after that, everyone clamoring to be the first to speak and gain the chance to speak. There were some furious faces amongst the Court, he noted. But also, some considering ones. Ones who seemed to be curious what he had to say. The only person who was fully on his side was Gaius, but the man sadly had the least power in the room, as he wasn’t even technically a freeman. He was a fantastic physician, the best in the lands, and the king respected his authority enough to invite him to Court. But he didn’t have much clout, not amongst the dukes and earls and viscounts. Still. It meant the world to Merlin to know he had Gaius on his side. Gaius meant more than any second-rate Noble possibly could. 

“Silence!” The king demanded, the room quieting a moment later. His father was staring at him, face a mask, eyes evaluating him. Merlin just stared calmly back, one of the only people in the world allowed to look his father in the eye without much offense given. After a moment a small smile rose on the king’s lips, the man nodding inappreciably. Merlin had a second to feel ecstatic that he’d succeeded, as the only person whose opinion truly mattered in Court was the king’s.

But then his father sighed, shaking his head. And Merlin’s heart sunk. 

“You make some good points, Prince Merlin. And you are correct, to some extent. However, Lord de Vere is also correct. We cannot afford to show weakness here. To fail to retaliate would show we are too weak to strike back against an obvious attack. We need to show the rebellion that we are not a force to be trifled with. Show them what will happen when they dare attack Camelot’s people. This matter is not up for debate. Let us discuss methods of retaliation that we can take.”

Merlin wanted to scream. No! Did his father not listen to a word he said?! He wanted to argue, to force the man to listen, but he knew no good would come of it. Nothing changed his father’s mind once it was made up. Nothing. 

Merlin could only watch, numb inside, as the Court smugly looked at him and began discussing acts of retaliation. Each worse than the last. Place all members of the town in reform camps, even the women and children. Kill a handful of the powerful non-magical people in the town. Kill all of the non-magical men. 

It made him sick. So utterly sick. He couldn’t say anything as the discussion continued. They all knew his position. But clearly, his status as crown prince meant nothing to them. To his father. Why listen to him? He was just a naive child, twenty years younger than the next youngest person. What did he know? 

The meeting dragged on and on after that, the heartless men discussing the best means of ‘showing their might.’ More like showing their heartlessness. Part of Merlin, as he sat there, hands clenched in fists as he struggled to keep his face neutral, understood the rebels so clearly. And part of him (a deep, deep part that he would never admit existed) privately felt that whatever retaliation they got from this? Was earned. They knew the risks. Merlin had pointed them out so clearly, so plainly. They refused to listen. The subsequent blood was on their hands, just as much as it was on the rebels. 

That was the problem, he felt, of having only Nobles and Lords on the Court, with only one high ranking everyday man in their midst. They didn’t represent the interest of the people. Of the common man. They represented greed and pride and power. Any attack to their power was to be met with scorn and hatred. And retaliation. That’s what this was about. It wasn’t about the five dead or twenty injured. It was about pride. 

And it was pride that would be their downfall. 

“Prince Merlin. What do you think?” His father called, hours later, leaning back in his chair. He looked weary. Good, Merlin thought cruelly. Perhaps he may even be regretting his decision. Not bloody likely, but he could hope. 

Merlin pasted on a blindingly fake smile and looked his father dead in the eyes. It was bold, even of a prince, but Merlin was nothing if not bold. 

“I feel I have made my opinions on the matter extremely clear, my king. I see no reason to say anymore.” 

He watched as his father clenched his jaw, clearly hearing the disdain in Merlin’s voice, but nodded tightly in response regardless. The king turned back to the Court, dismissing Merlin’s comment, but he could see the tension that had entered his father’s shoulders. The dark, unclear look that the man would shoot him, from time to time. He knew he would be lectured after the meeting was over, put in his place. But he didn’t care. He was so frustrated and upset as he sat there, forced to listen to them plan countless acts of needless violence, that he didn’t care what consequences he faced. He truly didn’t. 

Mercifully, a couple hours before noon, the Court was adjourned. His father had decided that they would investigate the matter further, but they would place all members of the town in their reform camps in the meantime, even women and children. Merlin bit his tongue at the decision, biting back the comment that the reform camps never worked. They only lead to men who returned home with simmering anger inside of them, even as they bowed their heads and promised they’d never do it again. Or else it lead to death. They were planting the seeds to their own destruction, he wanted to shout. But he couldn’t. 

Because he was just a naive, childish prince. 

What did he know? 

It was as he stood, eager to flee the room and be reunited with Arthur (his mind cheering up as he remembered that morning, waking up safe and warm in the arms of the man he adored more than any other, so happy and whole that he wanted to burst), when his father called him back. 

“Prince Merlin. A word.”

Crap, he cursed under his breath, heart sinking. He knew it was coming. One didn’t directly counter the king without some form of retaliation. After all. A king had to show his might, didn’t he? 

Merlin watched with listless eyes as the other members of Court, some thirty odd Nobles who had gained favor one way or the other, ranging in age from forty to seventy, exited. Several, mainly the older ones, shot him a triumphant look as they left, feeling secure enough in their position to be so defiant to the crown prince. He swore, if they still lived when he was king, he would take great pleasure in taking their position away. Maybe replace them with a common, non-magical peasant. That would rankle them. Show them to learn the consequences of not listening to their crown prince. Was it petty? Yes. Was it said from the same damned pride that he’d condemned not minutes before? Yep. Never let it be said that Merlin was a perfect person. 

One Court member approached him, making Merlin tense. But then he realized it was Baron Seymour, one of the nicer of the older Court members. The one who had actually seemed to listen to him, earlier. Hm. 

“You did well today, my prince. I almost agreed with you. I still feel that it is best to showcase our strength, in this case, but you were well spoken and I can see the logic in your argument. I have no doubt that you will make a fine king, one day. You will make us all proud.”

The baron smiled at him and nodded, before exiting the room. Merlin didn’t know what to feel. He never cared what the old fools of Court thought, but it was nice to hear that he’d done well. Even if it was from a Baron, who was amongst the lowest ranks of Nobility. Not that he cared for such things. Baron Seymour was a good sort, he supposed. Better than the honorary ‘dukes’ they housed. Honestly. Who cared about made up titles created to appease the egos of tiny men who were desperate to overcompensate? 

He did smile slightly when Gaius approached him, pride shining in his old, blue eyes. 

“You were amazing in there, my boy. I am so very, very proud of you. You stated your opinion and stood your ground, even against opposition from all sides. You will make a great king, my dear boy. The greatest.”

Somehow, he felt, as a pleased blush bloomed on his cheeks, those words meant a thousand times more to him than any words a baron or duke could give. Gaius may not have been a Noble, but he was a noble man. And that meant so much more than made up titles. 

Still. He didn’t feel the praise was earned. Merlin’s smile died as he looked down, helplessness entering him. 

“Yeah, Gaius, but I failed. I wasn’t even able to get my father to listen to me. What kind of king will that make?” 

It was depressing to think about. To know that he had such little power that his word held less weight than a Baron’s, to his father. But Gaius just shook his head, tutting. 

“Such is the way of youth, with their radicle ideas. You will face opposition, Prince Merlin, from all sides for the ideals you carry. People will resist, as people always do. Small men are terrified of change, after all. But you were able to sway the opinion of at least half of the Court. Perhaps not fully, perhaps not all the way. But I have been around Nobility long enough to know that forcing them to change their thinking at all, even slightly different from their norm? Is an incredible feat in and of itself. And to think you were able to do that with words and passion alone. You will move mountains, my boy. And I will be filled with pride as I watch you do so. I know I have no status so my pride means nothing, but you will always have it, my prince.”

Merlin felt his throat thicken, and he longed to hug the older man, but he reined it in. It would be improper. Instead, he smiled bright, eyes a little too shiny, and shook his head. 

“No, Gaius. Your opinion means more than any lousy Noble’s does. You are a better man than all of them combined. Thank you, for your faith in me. I hope I won’t let you down.”

Gaius smiled, eyes shining with happiness and pride. 

“You won’t, my dear boy. You most certainly won’t.”

With that, Gaius exited the room, leaving him alone with his father and the couple of Nobles he was speaking intently to. After a moment his father dismissed the Nobles and turned to Merlin, eyes inscrutable. Merlin simply stared calmly back, not giving his inner anxiety away. He’d learned a lot, over the past couple years, of how to control his outward emotions even as his inner ones raged. It was something, he supposed. 

“You did well, my son,” his father commented. Gee, it sure was great everyone was apparently _proud_ of him. If only that pride translated to, he didn’t know. Actually listening to his words? 

He didn’t say that aloud, just inclined his head minutely. There was a time the praise would have made him over the moon. Now, he felt more pleased with Gaius’s praise than his own father’s. He wondered what that said about him. 

His father sighed at Merlin’s non-answer, shaking his head. 

“You don’t… you don’t understand. We have to show our strength, Merlin. If we do nothing, then they will walk all over us. We need to show that we are not a kingdom to be trifled with.”

“But we wouldn’t be doing nothing!” Merlin blurted, regretting it a second later when his father raised an eyebrow at him. Scowling, he collected himself. He refused to back down, though. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Mercy is not nothing. It is active. Powerful. It is strength in its own right. To show kindness in the face of hatred makes their argument weak. It shows that they are wrong about us, that we are not what they think we are. They hate us because we are killing them. If we show kindness… mercy… we can show them that we care. That we are better than that. We will sway the people’s opinion. Show them we are willing to listen. To be better.”

His father just shook his head, denying his words. He wasn’t listening. He never did. 

“No, Merlin. You are being weak. Power is strength. Kindness is a luxury we cannot afford. To think otherwise is weakness. And I would never have taken you for weak.”

“I am not weak!” Merlin shouted, the words reverberating around the large room. He could see the disdain in his father’s eyes, the dismissal at his clear weakness that made him overly emotional, but Merlin had had enough. He was tired of being ignored. Of having his ideals put down because he was young. Maybe he was young. Maybe he was idealistic. But he wasn’t a fool. And he wasn’t weak. 

“I am not weak,” he hissed, deadly quiet. “I think only for our people. All of our people. Unlike you. I am not the weak one here, father. You are.”

Oh. He shouldn’t have said that. He flinched unconsciously at the rage that filled his father’s eyes, the fury that made him stand straight and sneer at Merlin. But Merlin refused to back down. He squared his shoulders and looked the king directly in the eyes. Maybe he’d be sent to the dungeons for his insubordination. Maybe he would lose his crown for this. But he didn’t care. He spoke again, cutting off his father. 

“Kindness is not weakness. Cruelty is not strength. Sometimes the hardest thing a person can do is be kind. To look in the face of adversity and say ‘no. I will not let that define me. I will be better. I will not allow myself to kneel.’ It is strength to be kind. To care. To love. It is easy and weak to let your fear and anger consume you; to allow it to hurt people who don’t deserve it. It is stronger and so much harder to look in the face of hatred and to choose to forgive. I am not naive. I am not a fool. And I am not weak. My kindness is my strength. And I won’t let you destroy it.” 

God. What was he saying? Who was he, to look his own father, the _king_ , in the eyes, and say such things? He’d never have dreamed of saying this, even a year prior. But he’d been thinking a lot lately. About Gaius, and his insistence that Merlin’s feelings weren’t a curse. Weren’t a burden. That they were his boon. That it was what made him strong. He thought about Freya and her sweet loyalty. Freya had always smiled at him so sweetly, telling him how she was so proud that he didn’t let his father’s anger crush his spirit. That he was an amazing person and deserved to be listened to and loved. He thought of Arthur, a man who had every right to hate him and yet believed in him so greatly. Who felt he would be a wonderful king one day, one he’d be proud to serve. Not because of his power, but because of his spirit. He thought of the people who mattered to him. Who cared about _him_. 

And he didn’t care what consequences he faced for his belief. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was stupid. But he just… didn’t care. 

Silence reigned in the room as his father stared at him, anger palpable, magic crackling around him in waves of electricity. There was a time this would have destroyed him. That seeing such anger, such hatred and rage on that aged face, directed towards _him_ , would have caused his heart to break and shatter. And it still did, to some extent. He loved his father with all his heart, don’t get him wrong. But Arthur was right. If he just stood by and let his father do such horrible things, without even a word of complaint… didn’t that just make him as responsible for the crimes committed? Didn’t that make him an accomplice? He didn’t want to be an accomplice to this. He’d rather rot in jail than allow himself to fall so very far. 

The silence lasted a minute longer, when his father turned away, breathing heavily. Merlin waited with bated breath for his sentence but jolted back when his father chuckled. It wasn’t a warm chuckle, or even a humorous one. But it was so unexpected all Merlin could do was stare, even as his father looked back up at him, anger replaced with keen sorrow. 

“There are days you remind me so much of your mother, my child. I could see her in your eyes just now, as you yelled at me. She was always so passionate and fiercely kind. It is why I loved her so. I fear she’d despise me, if she saw me now.”

Merlin’s heart clenched at the words, his father glancing up towards the ceiling as his eyes shone. The man never spoke of his mother. All he knew about the woman was that she was the kindest soul around. That she loved so fiercely and deeply that anyone under the banner of her love was truly blessed. Gaius had told him that, smiling softly, when he’d asked if the older man thought his mother would have loved him. ‘She’d have adored you, Merlin. Make no doubts about it.’ 

“You... you are right. Kindness is not weakness. Cruelty is not strength. But I cannot afford to back down now. I have done too much... gambled too much. I am too set in my ways to ever change. Even if we fail. And I fear we just may. I am truly sorry, my son. I truly am.”

_But you could change, father. If you wanted to. You’re just making excuses_.

He thought the words. Felt them thick on his tongue. Wanted to let them loose. 

But he found that he couldn’t. Not as he looked at the sorrow in his father’s eyes. At the way he sunk under the pressure. He was a man who had been fighting for so long, trying so hard to do what he felt was right, even as he doubted. As he feared. How could Merlin preach kindness if he were to hurt his father now? 

It was easy to let your hatred and anger consume you, to let it hurt the people you loved. 

It was so very hard to find it in yourself to forgive. Even if the person had done nothing to earn forgiveness. Even if they were dooming an entire kingdom for the failing of one man. 

So Merlin swallowed the words. Swallowed his rage. Instead, he walked forward, slowly, and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. Soft, kind. Gentle. He looked deep into his father’s eyes. And he smiled. 

“I think… I think, father, that if my mother were as much like me as you say. If we… if we are alike. Well. I think she’d forgive you, then.” 

He couldn’t find it in him to say the words. That _he_ forgave his father. For everything. For the years of distance and heartache. He honestly wasn’t sure he actually did. But he hoped his words could give the man some comfort. After all. No matter what, he loved his father. He was a deeply flawed man, yes. But he wanted to be a good one. Didn’t that count for something? 

For the first time in his life, Merlin watched in awe as a tear rolled down his father’s face, eyes bleeding sorrow. It was only the single tear, the man straightening a touch. He was taller than his father, he realized distantly. He’d never realized that. His father had always seemed so giant to him. So grandiose. Larger than life. 

“I can only pray you are right, my boy.”

His father stepped back at that, turning to the window, hands clasped behind his back. Merlin watched as the man composed himself, saying nothing. He’d said all he needed to say. 

After that, his father told him his duties for the day. Merlin nodded and left the room, eyes dark and worried. His head was spinning with the previous meeting, hoping that things would work out, but fearing they wouldn’t. Fearing that things had spiraled so much that nothing could fix it now. 

Seeing Arthur… the man so full of worry and care that he practically bled it… it had soothed something, keep within him. He smiled tightly at his servant, explaining his plans. 

The picnic they later shared had given him the luxury of being able to forget. To pretend. To play at being a normal person, a person who didn’t have to hold such a terrible burden. A person who could share a tender lunch with his dearest love and not fear what the day would bring. 

He wanted so badly to kiss Arthur. Part of him felt that the other wouldn’t even mind, if he did. But he couldn’t bear it. Bear the fear. The confusion. This… this was good. It was light, and happy, and lovely. He didn’t want to worry about it. To agonize over his every move, to wonder if Arthur truly wanted it or if he was just being kind. If he was being a good servant or if he truly felt… well. 

If they didn’t name it… if they kept it light and easy and fun… perhaps he could trick himself into thinking it was just friendship. That Arthur would do this for anyone he had befriended. That he wasn’t treating him differently. Not like a servant treated a master. Not like a lover treated their lover. Just a friend who wanted to be there for his friend. 

And he wasn’t a fool. He’d meant that, when he’d told his father that. He wasn’t naive. He knew the truth, could see it shining in Arthur’s eyes. The devotion. The… the _love_. It was maddening. It was too much. 

He had no idea what he was feeling. He loved Arthur, of course he did. He’d loved him from the moment he’d first laid eyes on him, standing above him, smug smirk on his gorgeous face. A royal prince turned peasant king. 

He was too confused to allow himself to delve deeper, though. He had so much to worry about. To fear. He knew what his father had planned, what the Court has decided. He knew what was going to come. He knew they were playing right into the rebel’s hands. 

For this was what they wanted, he had realized. He was sure of it. This would gain them support. Gain them righteous anger. The whole rebellion was built off the anger and suppressed indignation of being held down and suppressed for years. These men and women were willing to die for this cause because they believed in it. Because his father gave them no other choice. What else could they do? Roll over and die? No. They’d fight. If they were to die regardless, at least they could do it with honor. With dignity. 

That’s what the members of the Court couldn’t see. Couldn’t begin to understand. They saw peasants and non-magical people as fleas. As worthless. They didn’t matter at all. They should be grateful they kept them alive, let alone fed. They felt that they should be thanking the magical Nobility on bended knee for their supposed kindness and mercy, for not killing them mercilessly. They didn’t understand that the lower class had just as much pride and sense of self-worth as they did. Arthur had told him, once. Had he been the tyrant prince Arthur’s friends had thought him to be, had he been every inch the haute prince they’d feared, they still would have resisted. Would have rebelled. Because it was better to die a freeman than live a life of servitude for an unjust reign.

So he had no time to puzzle out his feelings. To question Arthur’s motives. To wonder if this was real or not. He had so much bigger fish to fry. He didn’t even really have time to mourn the loss of his first real relationship. He had to keep going. Keep moving. Or else everything would crumble around him and then. Then he’d fail his people. 

And he couldn’t afford that. 

Refused. 

So this would remain nameless, he decided, as Arthur grasped his hand and smiled so very sweetly. As they walked through the forest he had grown up in, hands clasped so very tight his heart ached. 

He would let himself feel his emotions, even if he couldn’t name them. They weren’t a weakness. They weren’t his downfall. They were his boon. They would save him. Maybe even, if he was lucky, save his kingdom. He didn’t know what kind of king he would be. If he’d be able to live up to the expectations layered upon him. If he could be the king Camelot needed to fix his father’s mistakes. 

But by god would he try. 

As soon as the pair entered the citadel, he let go of Arthur’s hand, mourning its loss immediately. But he was the prince. He had to be strong. And while his love made him strong, he couldn’t rely solely on Arthur, here. Not at that moment. One day he would show his love for the world to see, naysayers be damned. But until that day, he’d hide it. For now. 

As he entered the castle, he smiled at Arthur and gave him the rest of the day off. Arthur had complained, but Merlin shook his head. 

“I have to conduct the interviews and overlook the searches of quarters. You can’t be there, besides. Take the day off. Enjoy yourself. Maybe help Gaius out, if your workaholic self can’t stand being stagnant. And… make sure there is nothing that might condemn you in your room. Please.”

Arthur smiled roguishly at him. 

“I would never. Just as long as you don’t look under the floorboards.”

Smiling, Merlin nodded, relieved that his servant was smart enough to have a hiding spot. He didn’t distrust Arthur, but he knew the man had swords and daggers, possibly even chainmail. All of which wasn’t strictly illegal, but would have been confiscated had it been found, per his father’s orders. And Merlin knew that the sword, at least, belonged to the man’s father. Like the ring he wore around his neck. He couldn’t bear taking such an heirloom from his servant. 

The two parted ways after that, Arthur reluctantly agreeing to meet him later, after dinner. From there, Merlin began the interviews, half the servants looking terrified, half looking vacant. Like they truly didn’t care. Those were the ones that scared him most. A man who had nothing to lose was often most willing to risk it all. If any were the ones to join the rebellion, it was them. 

Merlin didn’t mention it in his report, though he knew he should have. He just mentioned their listlessness, their vacant eyes. He didn’t mention his suspicions, though. Let the king make from his observations what he would. He wouldn’t be the one to raise alarm.

Of course, it would have been impossible for him to interview every servant in the castle, even if he had several days to spare. There were hundreds of servants in the castle, after all. So, he delegated the task out between his most trustworthy Mages. At the end, he’d read over their reports and add them to his own. He’d then reinterview anyone found suspicious. 

It was a tiring task. Thankless. He tried his best to be soothing, to assuage fears. But nothing he did made the servants at ease. Christ. Was this the way the castle was run? Servants afraid to talk to their master? 

It sickened him. But he didn’t blame them. After all, he rarely showed them kindness in public. Sometimes he’d gift them things, like leftover food, or he’d hand out sweets amongst the youngest. But it wasn’t much. Not nearly enough. 

When he finally slunk into his room, far passed the time he normally arrived back, he groaned and fell headfirst onto his bed. Arthur was by his side in a second, hand rubbing soothing circles on his tense back. He’d interviewed Arthur himself an hour earlier, eyes bleeding apologies as he asked the questions his father had informed him to ask. Arthur hadn’t said anything about it, had kept up his defiant appearance since there were guards in the room, but his eyes shone his acceptance and forgiveness. Luckily nothing was found in the man’s room, though he had found a bottle of oil in the bedside table that had piqued his interest for completely unrelated reasons. 

Now he was beyond tired, a stack of reports on his desk that he’d have to review before the night ended. Fuck. 

“Hmm. You should eat something, Merlin. It’ll make you feel better.”

Merlin couldn’t help the laugh that he released, flopping over onto his back, Arthur’s hand caressing his abdomen as his hand hovered where it had been earlier. It tickled, but he carefully didn’t laugh. He knew the torment he’d face if he let that weakness be revealed. No thanks. 

“You are such a mother hen,” he chided, his thankful grin belaying the annoyed words. Arthur just sniffed. 

“Is it a crime to care about my master?”

Merlin smiled, even as the word made his stomach clench. He sat up and shrugged lightly, Arthur’s hand retreating to his side. 

“Fine. I have to read the other Mage’s reports, though. Can you bring them over to the table?”

He ordinarily wouldn’t have trusted a servant to handle the reports about possible servant rebellion, but he trusted Arthur exclusively. If the man betrayed him, he’d honestly rather fling himself from the rafters than live with such pain. He wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

Arthur just nodded and headed for his desk, grabbing the papers as Merlin headed to the table the dinner was placed at, where he did most of his work, setting about to read endless, boring reports. 

And it was. Boring. It took him over an hour to slog through the reports, most of them saying the same thing he’d noted. He complained to Arthur, knowing he shouldn’t but unable to help it. The man just hummed in sympathy, at one point coming over to lightly kneed at his aching shoulders. 

“Mmm,” he moaned softly, head tilting back against Arthur’s toned stomach. Arthur hummed in response, digging his fingers in deeper, getting the aching kinks out of his neck. It felt so good. 

It made it hard for him to concentrate, though, arousal flooding him, so he reluctantly asked Arthur to stop. The man did, immediately, but he hummed softly in response. 

The only anomaly he found was in Mage Morgana’s report. 

It gave him pause. He trusted the woman, of course he did. She was Freya’s lover and Arthur’s sister. She was also an incredible mage, powerful and mighty. 

Which is why it was odd that her report was rather… lackluster. Bland. Oh, don’t get him wrong, all the reports were boring. But hers... it was too neat. Clean. Taciturn. Like she hadn’t been trying. 

Like she was hiding something. 

For example, for one of the servants she interviewed, all she wrote was “he seemed nervous but answered every question honestly.” 

She didn’t say what he said. Didn’t say how she knew he answered honestly. The other reports had some explanation for the report, but hers didn’t. He was willing to chalk it down to the woman coming from lower status, that maybe her grasp on written language wasn’t as good as some of the others. But he’d read reports by her before. They were always super detailed and careful to explain her reasonings. Maybe that’s why the lackluster report bothered him. It was out of character for the woman. 

But he wouldn’t question it. Merlin knew the woman cared for the servants, spending more time around them than the other Mages. The others treated her poorly, he knew, despite his demands they treat her equally. For one, she was the only woman. For another, she was the only non-Noble. It had taken him ages to get his father to agree to let him train her, but even after he did, the woman faced opposition. She cared more for the non-magical servants than her fellow Mages, he felt. 

So it made sense she wouldn’t be happy about the task. He’d asked her because he trusted her impeccably, but maybe he should have asked another. Perhaps it had been cruel. He’d apologize in the morning, he decided, pushing the unease out of his mind. Morgana was a good person. She felt things deeply, like him. She probably was just uncomfortable with the task. That was it. 

Finally done, though, he groaned as he stretched, the meal Cook had made long since gone. It had been delicious, he was sure, but he barely remembered the taste. Arthur had tried to engage him in conversation, but he had barely had the mind for it. 

That’s why he couldn’t be in a relationship, he thought sadly, looking up at Arthur’s sympathetic eyes. He wasn’t emotionally available at the moment. He’d just hurt Arthur. Like he’d unwittingly hurt Gwaine. 

It wasn’t fair. But what could he do? 

He allowed Arthur to strip him of his clothes, though, suddenly noticing the tub in the room. Oh, right. He’d forgotten it was one of the days he usually bathed. He knew he was odd, bathing so much, but he liked the feeling of being clean. Plus, the warm water with his various, expensive oils was heaven after a long day. 

He felt his body heat even before he stepped into the water, breath hitching at the heated look Arthur gave him, eyes trailing slowly down his naked body, lingering on his steadily hardening crotch. The man said nothing, just licked his lips before looking away in a faux display of privacy. 

Christ. He was a goner. 

On slightly shaky legs, Merlin stepped up to the tub and hissed as the warm water assaulted his sore muscles. His hand ached as he submerged it. His body had healed it enough that he no longer had to cover it, but it still was a little raw when it was assaulted by the oils and heat, the scar aching.

Arthur wandered over then, holding the bar of soap. Not a word was exchanged, but Merlin felt his stomach clench as Arthur began to bathe him, scrubbing the grime away. It wasn’t even an unusual requirement of a servant, many Nobles requiring their servants to bathe them in such a way. But he’d never asked that of Arthur. This… this was more than just simply duty. He was sure of that. 

He felt his breath catch each time Arthur’s hand dipped below the water, fingers trailing his wet, warm skin as the soap travelled. He kept carefully away from the hardness between his legs, though sometimes his knuckles would brush his length by accident, causing Merlin to moan wantonly. It was so goddamn erotic and he wasn’t even being jerked off. Honestly, if he hadn’t learned some restraint from Gwaine and his teasing, he’d have cum so hard by then. 

As it was, he suffered (ha!) through Arthur’s ministrations and allowed him to carefully wash his hair, cock so painfully hard it wasn’t funny. He’d never realized how erotic it was to have someone else wash his hair, but Gwaine had enjoyed doing and it Did Something to Merlin. So, Arthur wasn’t his lover, but Christ. 

Finally, the bath was done, both men breathing heavier than before it began. Merlin stood without shame and adored the look of heat Arthur gave him, though the man carefully didn’t look below his waist as he held out a towel. Merlin accepted it, only slightly disappointed. 

After that he dressed himself, body too wound up to handle Arthur’s warm fingers trailing his body anymore. He’d only embarrass himself if they did. So he quickly got changed, allowing his thoughts to land on his worries for the kingdom in order to calm himself down. Sadly, it worked all too well, and instead worked him up in a less pleasant way. 

Sighing, Merlin sat on his bed, groaning, hunched over the edge. He noticed that the room was impeccable again. Arthur must have cleaned up while he had worked. God bless that wonderful man. He didn’t know what he’d do without him. Probably spontaneously combust from the suppressed rage and anger and fear. Arthur brought out the best in him. He loved him for that. 

“Get some sleep, Merlin,” Arthur muttered, sitting beside him carefully, hand landing warm on his mid back. It was glorious but he couldn’t find it in him to muster up the arousal from earlier. He was just so tired. Merlin unconsciously leaned his head against Arthur’s shoulder, humming in contentment when he felt fingers run through the wet curls. His hair was getting long again. He should probably have it trimmed soon. 

“Stay?” He whispered, moments later. He wished he could say it was unbidden, but it wasn’t. He meant it. He really wanted Arthur to stay. Arthur hummed in response, nodding against him. 

“Okay. I, uh. Already informed Gaius it was a possibility,” Arthur admitted, tone low and embarrassed. Merlin just laughed, pressing his nose against Arthur’s chest. He smelled faintly of his cinnamon perfume, but also of sweat and grime. It should be disgusting. 

It wasn’t. 

He watched as Arthur went over to his wardrobe and picked out another old pair of his sleep attire, stretched and loose enough for the broader man. Merlin had hummed as the expanse of sun kissed skin was on display. Arthur didn’t spend all that much time in the sun these days, especially in the winter, but it was certainly tanner than his pasty, white skin, so he figured the descriptor fit. 

Dressed and significantly pinker, Arthur entered the bed and held his arms open in welcome. Merlin didn’t waste a single second and snuggled closer to the man. 

Sadly, even this wasn’t that unusual a request of a servant. Some Nobles, he knew, used servants as bed warmers in the cold winter months, particularly the unmarried men. He had always hated the thought of it and would rather freeze than abuse his power (not to mention the fact that his magic could heat the bed more than enough, thanks), but he kind of understood the logic here. No amount of magic could replace the overwhelming _heat_ of being held by thick, sturdy arms. 

He hoped Arthur was doing this for pure reasons. Because he wanted to, because he desired it. Not because Merlin asked. Because he thought that Merlin wanted it. Merlin did, but only if Arthur did, too. He didn’t think Arthur would suffer for him, but he might push aside his discomfort to please him. He was that good of a friend. 

Regardless, he felt Arthur relax against him, sighing a happy sigh as he buried his nose in Merlin’s damp hair. He could have magically dried it, but it always made it frizz out, like that strange creature he’d seen a picture of once, the porcupine. He regretted his decision not to, now. But Arthur didn’t seem to mind. He just hummed and tugged Merlin closer. 

If this was their new normal, Merlin thought sleepily as he closed his eyes, impossibly comfortable, then he’d die a happy man. To go to bed each night, held by the love of his life… hmm. 

Maybe they weren’t in a relationship. Maybe they weren’t ‘together.’ Maybe they were never destined to be in a romantic relationship. 

But this? Right here, being held, being loved; this? Was worth more than anything else he’d ever had. Even sex with Gwaine, which had once been his paramount experience of intimacy and love, paled in comparison to being held by Arthur. This was better than sex, he realized, awe filling him even as his mind wound down and began lulling him to sleep. He hadn’t realized that was possible. Though… he had always thought, privately, that being held afterward was the best part of sex. Part of him ached inside, to remember Gwaine, but he couldn’t deny how happy the man had once made him. The feelings he had (and still did, to some extent) inspired. 

He could only hope he was good enough to hold onto this, he thought, as sleep overcame him. That the coming tide didn’t wash his happiness away. 

God. Please. 

Let him keep this. 

Please. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original summary from ye olde Draco who wrote this story: So, Merlin goes into Court and is dismayed to hear that the Older Court Members (TM) (OCM) are plotting to get revenge for the attack and the Younger Court Members(tm) (who are still at least forty) agree and also want to kill some innocent townspeople for no reason. Merlin is like, what the heck, what is wrong with you people? And tries to be all “heyyyyy, how about we -don’t- do that??” But in a Respectful way. 
> 
> The OCM are like, dude, why are you raining on our parade? We’re like eighty and you’re just a dumb kid. Expect Merlin’s the crown prince so they have to be all Polite, even though Merlin knows they’re seething in rage. 
> 
> Merlin refutes, is able to get a coherent argument out about how mercy would be a good option, and manages to impress an OCM. But he still gets refuted and treated like a dumb kid. 
> 
> The king is all, why should we be merciful? Merlin is all, what is wrong with you??? Gaius is a bro and helps Merlin out, but because he isn’t a Noble his opinion doesn’t matter. Merlin gets fed up and yells at one point, before feeling like a dumb kid. 
> 
> There’s a lot of back and forth until the king is all “good point, my son! Still, no.” And decides to put all the non magical townspeople, even women and children, into the “reform camps.” Even though they have no idea if the town was involved in the attack or not. 
> 
> Merlin wants to kill someone but has to be Respectful and just sits in his seething rage. Once the meeting is over his father calls him back. While waiting for the room to empty he gets told he did a Good Job by an OCM, then by Gaius, which means more. 
> 
> Then he yells at his father. Like, straight up scene from Thor, like “I’M NOT WEAK, YOU’RE WEAK!!” Or that scene from Avatar the Last Airbender, where Aang is all “no Firelord, YOU’RE not wearing any pants!!!” So drama. 
> 
> Anyway, internally he’s like, welp, I’m screwed, and waits to be sent to the dungeons. Instead, he gets shocked when his father sheds a Single Man Tear (tm) and says “dude, you remind me of my dead wife.”
> 
> Merlin is all “dude. That’s my mom,” and is conflicted whether to forgive his dad or not. In the end he decides to show his father mercy, practicing what he preaches, and says that he thinks, if they were indeed similar, that Hunith would forgive Balinor if she were alive. Basically alluding to the fact he kind of, maybe forgives his father. Kind of. Not really. But he’s trying. 
> 
> Then he gets told his duties and heads out to have his romantic picnic lunch with the boytoy. 
> 
> Scene. 
> 
> (Also, I was looking at my page count for this story. Over 1,000 pages. Dear lord.)


	23. The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> Wow! A chapter, so soon after the last??? Clearly the world must be ending. 
> 
> Nah. I just felt like posting. I figure it's best to post when I feel the inspiration to, than try and wait for specific days or times, or distance between chapters, or... whatever. The planets aligning or some such nonsense. 
> 
> Like usual, I didn't edit this chapter, so let me know if there are any noticeable mistakes. This chapter is mostly Gaius and Arthur bonding, which I always adore. I love Gaius, truly. For some reason I added another summary at the end of this chapter, when I wrote it in April, and I still have no idea why. I think because there are some awkward moments? I don't know. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for the kind reviews!! They definitely helped with my motivation to post. I'm glad that the attraction doesn't seem unnatural. I mostly just imagine what I think attraction would feel like, if I ever felt it, and go from there. Plus, what I've seen or read in stories. So I'm glad that it seems to be working! 
> 
> Enjoy!

**23 The Warlock Prince**

Leaving Merlin alone in a time like this was harder than it had any right to be, Arthur felt, stomach churning as Merlin walked off, head held high and shoulder back as he went to follow his father’s orders. He should be beside him, Arthur privately thought. Through everything. Even this. 

But that was probably not a good thought. After all, everyone needed space sometimes. You can’t be around someone twenty-four hours a day. It was not possible. Or if it were, it would get tiresome very fast. 

So, despite not wanting to, Arthur didn’t complain as Merlin left. He just watched him go and hoped that he’d be able to help him when they saw one another after Merlin had finished his task. 

It was still concerning to him that he felt so much. So deeply. He had no idea if it was love, magic, or maybe their bond. And, if it was their bond, was it real? If he was being made to feel this way because he and Merlin were bound for all time, did that make his feelings real, or were they just a byproduct of being bound? 

He didn’t know. And the more he thought on it, the more his head ached. Perhaps he could use this time to do something productive, he mused, finally moving from the spot he’d been left in when Merlin walked away. 

Arthur couldn’t help but smile as he entered the physician’s quarters, the older man puttering around as he made a potion. He was so involved that he didn’t hear Arthur walk in. Grinning only a little meanly, Arthur entered the room on silent feet and recognized the potion Gaius was working on. A non-magical herbal remedy for blisters. It seemed he was halfway through, given the citrusy scent, meaning he had already added the lemon. That meant the next ingredient was…

“Coconut oil?” Arthur asked innocently, holding out the ingredient with a carefully innocent face. He fought to keep his face neutral when Gaius gasped, spinning around so dramatically Arthur was almost afraid. Then Gaius clutched his heart and Arthur actually was almost afraid (after all, the man was sixty, which was very old. Not many people lived passed fifty, though Gaius did have magic, which usually made people live longer.) 

“Don’t do that!” Gaius chided, though he grabbed the ingredient with a mild glare. Arthur just grinned, eyes wide and innocent. Like he was asking, _who, me_?

“Don’t help you out? But Gaius! I’m your apprentice! My job is to help you out!” 

He said it over exaggeratedly, putting a hand to his chest in mock offense. Gaius just rolled his eyes, but Arthur could see the fond smile creeping up on his aged face. Assured the old man wouldn’t have a heart attack on him, Arthur grinned, pleased his sneak attack had worked. 

“Funny. And here I was thinking your job was as Merlin’s manservant. Speaking of, where is the young prince? He was incredible during Court today. You’d have been proud, had you seen him.”

Really? Arthur felt a rush of pride fill him, though he had no idea why. Gaius was praising Merlin, not him. Why would he feel pride on Merlin’s behalf? Hm. Odd. 

“Actually… that’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Arthur started, slowly, before stopping. It was easy to think that he should tell Gaius about his raging emotions and ask what they meant. It was another thing altogether to actually get the words out now that he was here. Oh, don’t get him wrong, he adored Gaius. The only person he trusted more was Merlin, or perhaps his own mother. Over the past nearly two years, Gaius had grown to become like a father to him, nurturing him into the man he was today. If there was anyone that he could ask about his feelings without feeling mortified, it would be the older man. 

It still didn’t help the lingering sense of embarrassment, though. He’d been keeping his emotions hidden for so long, forcing them down into almost nonexistence; it was hard to willingly bring them up. But if he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life fearing the breadth of his own feelings, he’d have to deal with the mortifying ordeal that it was of being known. Hm. Decisions. 

“Did something happen?” Gaius questioned, putting down his salve and looking at Arthur with worried eyes. Ah, shit. He’d waited too long and had worried Gaius. Oops. 

Waving his hand, he shook his head. 

“No, no. He’s fine. We’re both fine. I was just… well. I was just concerned. About, well. Things.”

Gaius raised The Dreaded Eyebrow of Doom, before adding one last ingredient to his salve mixture. Arthur knew it was the last ingredient before he had to let it rest for thirty minutes, then stir a few times and add more oil. Huh. Seemed he’d learned a lot more about medicine than expected in the past couple years. Who’d have thunk it? 

“Things, hm? Sounds serious,” Gaius stated, tone dry, though he walked over to the hearth and gestured for Arthur to sit in the chair beside him. Heart pounding for no good reason, Arthur did as requested and sat, his body suddenly wound tight and taut. 

Okay. It should not be this difficult to talk about feelings. Girls did it all the time! It wasn’t hard. If a girl could do it, so could he. He was a man. Men talked about feelings. Sometimes. Right? 

Right. 

Okay. Here went nothing. Open up his mouth and let words flow out. Any second now. Aaaannnyyy second... 

The seconds passed by insanely slowly as Arthur sat and tried to force his mouth to work. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force the words he wanted to say out. How did one tell their honorary father that they were in love with a prince and had no idea how to go about knowing if the feelings were real or not? It was embarrassing! He was a couple months shy of twenty-three. He should be able to know what his own feelings were. He shouldn’t have to ask what love was, or what it felt like, or if it was supposed to hurt so badly. While, simultaneously, feeling so incredible and wondrous he barely remembered how to breathe when he was around Merlin. His whole heart pounding just from a simple brush of the skin… his mind pleasantly numb as he stared into deep, blue eyes… his breath ragged and unsteady after seeing a quirk of the lips… like. Who said that kind of thing? It was embarrassing. 

“Arthur,” Gaius said softly, looking at him over his thin glasses. Arthur felt his hand clench, heart pounding as Gaius stared at him, like he could see deep into his heart and knew what Arthur wasn’t saying. God. He hated this. 

He felt a gentle hand land on top of his clenched fist and started so badly he almost dislodged it. But Gaius was prepared and just held on tight, carefully peeling his fist back and holding the hand carefully in his own. Like it was precious metal. 

He’d held Merlin’s hand not an hour before. It was soft, so very soft. Barely any calluses. Almost dainty, though Arthur had felt the power rushing below the surface. 

Christ. He was screwed. 

He saw Gaius open his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say was lost as Arthur blurted out the words that he had kept inside for over a year now. 

“I think I’m in love with Merlin.”

The words hung in the air, like steam. Or something. His mind had stopped working and he could barely think as time slowed, his heart pounding, breath ceasing. Oh, God. Ohhhhhhh, fuck. He’d actually said the words. 

He’d never said it aloud, before. Not even to himself. He knew it. Of course, he knew it, that’s why he was doing this whole goddamn thing. But it wasn’t until he’d said it that he realized how deep the feelings ran. How all-encompassing it was. How _real_ it was. He was in love with Merlin. He was _in love_ with _Merlin_. Oh. God. Fuck. Shit. Damn. More curses that could portray how terrified he felt. Heck. Crap. 

He could distantly see mild surprise on Gaius’s face, before a soft smile of love and acceptance broke out. Gaius opened his mouth, but Arthur was suddenly afraid. Not even that he’d be rejected or that Gaius would hate him. He highly doubted that. He just… was afraid. So, he cut Gaius off, again, and kept speaking, each word slightly more frantic and panicked than the last. 

“A-at least I think I am. Maybe? I don’t, well. I don’t know, am I? God, what even is love? I have no idea. I thought I was in love, before. With Gwen. You remember her, right? Beautiful, incredible, sweet. The perfect woman. I, I loved her. Right? Yes. Maybe. I don’t know! Because I love Merlin too, or I think I do, but it feels nothing alike! W-with Gwen it was easy. I knew, since I was ten, that I would marry her one day. It was just… I _knew_ it. But when Lancelot came, I didn’t know it anymore. And it hurt. I hated him. But even just thinking about Merlin with anyone else kills me inside. I didn’t even know how much I hated Gwaine until I read his stupid letter breaking up with Merlin and I realized how much _hurt_ I had been feeling and I-“

Arthur cut off, letting out a high-pitched whine. He scrubbed his hand through his hair and stood, pacing restlessly. He barely even remembered Gaius was in the room. He was just… ranting. 

“I’ve never felt like this before. When I look at him, I feel… god. So much. Everything. It’s like looking at the sun. Blinding and painful and horrible. Yet also awe-inspiring and beautiful and wondrous. Like I’m seeing something precious that only I am allowed to see. Is this love? Am I, am I in _love_?! Am I cursed, with magic? Or is this something else? Something different? I don’t know! I- I think it’s love… b-but it’s not like anything else I’ve ever felt. Loving Gwen was easy. It was just right. Logical. Nothing about loving _Mer_ lin is logical. In fact, it’s very _il_ logical! Because Merlin is a man and a prince, and he is expected to marry a princess or Noblewoman, t-to produce heirs, and he can’t possibly love a non-magical peasant! Yeah, we’re connected, but what if that’s all this is?! Our bond?! Is it still real? If we’re just being influenced by our bond, are the feelings inspired true? Or… o-or…”

Arthur cut off at that, throat getting too thick to speak. He could feel tears of frustration prickling at his eyes, but he valiantly fought them down. Like hell would he be that weak. He was already mortified enough. No thank you, tears. 

He watched, numb, as Gaius stood and strode over to him. He had half a second to worry that Gaius was about to punch him when the man pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing as tight as his old muscles allowed. Which was very tight, he realized, hugging back. He hid his face in Gaius’s robes, like a child. He felt so foolish and stupid. God. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? Idiot. Should have kept it in. Now Gaius knew how pathetic he was, and he’d hate him and-

“Oh, Arthur. I will not pretend to know what you are feeling, as love portrays itself in many different ways. Every time you fall in love, it will be different to the last. No two loves are the same, after all. The way I love you is different to the way I love Merlin, though I view both of you like my own. What you feel for Merlin might be love. Or perhaps not. Maybe it’s just infatuation, brought on by proximity and your destiny. Or maybe it’s magic. I cannot tell, Arthur. Not for sure. I can say that you do not seem to be enchanted, to me. I’ve seen enough love spells in my life to be assured that you are not currently cursed. But I cannot give you the answers you seek. Only you can do that.”

Oh. Great. More riddles. No! He wanted answers, goddamn it! 

“C-can you. Can you just… Just tell me. Does it sound like love?”

He felt so pathetic, hiding his face in his honorary father’s robe, eyes squeezed tight, asking for clarification on his own feelings. Feelings he should already be able to figure out on his own. Pathetic. 

Gaius just hummed, hand moving up to hold Arthur’s head against him, protecting him. It felt nice. Secure. 

“Again, I cannot say. My love for Alice… it was deep. True. But we didn’t have the troubles you and Merlin currently have. I do not envy you, my boy, for the weight of your destiny.”

Arthur let out a noise of frustration, trying to pull back. This wasn’t helping. But Gaius just tutted and held Arthur tight. After a second of fighting, Arthur stopped pulling and just listened, resigned, hands clenched in fists on Gaius’s back. 

“Now, now. All I’m saying is that I can’t tell you for sure. Not completely. Only you can answer that. However. From what you are saying. From what I have seen, from both you and Merlin? Well. It wouldn’t surprise me if it were love you are feeling. You are a very caring person, Arthur. Your heart runs deep, and you feel things so strongly, even if you cannot verbalize the feelings. Your words do not surprise me, nor do your feelings. Love or not, I do not doubt that you care very deeply for the young warlock prince. Do not discount that affection out of hand. Embrace it. Nurture it. Only then can you really tell what it is you are feeling. And Arthur. Do not be afraid. Love is the most powerful force on earth. You have nothing to fear from it. Let yourself feel it. Only then will your confusion end. Only then will you be able to tell.”

Arthur felt his throat grow thick again, and he took some deep breaths to fight back the panic that was rising within him. It was so much. Too much. 

“But,” Arthur began, hesitating. He wanted to ask but had no idea how. Gaius said nothing, just hummed, holding him tighter. Arthur closed his eyes. Fuck it. “But what if I’m wrong? What if I pursue this and it isn’t love? I’ve known that Merlin has had… _feelings_ for me since the second week I knew him. What if I’m wrong and I hurt him? I don’t want to do that, Gaius. I can’t hurt him.”

“Then don’t,” was the reply Gaius gave, shrugging his shoulders. Arthur growled, frustrated, causing Gaius to chuckle. 

“I’m sorry, my boy, but really. It’s that simple. If you don’t want to hurt him, then don’t. I’ve known Merlin since he was born, delivering him myself. From his very first breath he was a fighter, screaming loud and strong. His magic manifested within hours, more powerful than any I’d ever felt, and he was only an infant. When his mother died, he didn’t calm for days, somehow instinctively knowing what had happened. I’ve watched him grow, from a timid, uncertain little boy into a strong, vivacious young man. He has faced challenges that men twice his age couldn’t have handled with even half the grace he did. He is not weak, even though many erroneously believe he is since he feels everything so deeply. If you do not want to hurt him, Arthur, then you won’t. As long as you trust him. As long as you trust _yourself_. Don’t fear what you are feeling, my dear boy. Trust in him. Trust in yourself. Let yourself feel.”

God. He wanted to believe Gaius. Really, honestly. He did. 

It was just hard. Trust what he was feeling? How? He didn’t even know _what_ he was feeling; how could he trust it? 

All he knew was that he didn’t want to hurt Merlin. Even the thought of it… it hurt him, deep inside. He wanted Merlin to be happy and healthy forever. If he could take Merlin’s pain away, he would, gladly, even if he was forced to then carry it himself. He was strong. Strong enough for the both of them. He could bear the pain for them both. 

Was this love? Or just infatuation? Or magic? He’d never heard of magic creating such deep feelings before. Love spells were typically surface deep, only base emotions dealt with. This… this was so much more. So much deeper. He could feel this feeling deep into his own core. Like it was as much a part of him as he was. 

Maybe he should do as Gaius suggested. Maybe he should trust in himself. In his feelings. In Merlin. Maybe he should allow himself to feel these feelings and learn from them. Only then could he truly figure it out. 

Pulling back, Arthur smiled weakly at Gaius, mind racing. Gaius tutted, hand reaching up to pat his cheek gently. 

“You are a good person, Arthur. You are allowed to feel this way. If you decide that you do love Merlin, then don’t let anyone take that from you. You will face opposition, maybe even scorn and hate. But don’t let it destroy your heart, my boy. That would be the biggest tragedy.”

Gaius pulled away, then, though he remained close. He began tinkering with some vials, giving Arthur a moment to compose himself. Regardless of his feelings for Merlin, Arthur was secure in the knowledge that he loved Gaius. Like the father he’d never had. 

So, it wasn’t what he had wanted to hear. Part of him had wanted Gaius to tell him, definitively, that it was or wasn’t love. But that would be too simple, wouldn’t it? And nothing in his life was simple. Sadly. 

Fine. Fine! He’d see where his feelings led him. He’d listen to them. Experience them. He wouldn’t push them down, like he’d done all his life. Part of him wanted to. Wanted to ignore this whole thing and go on how he always had. But something told him that doing such a thing would only hurt Merlin in the end. And the one thing he knew, more than anything? He never wanted to hurt Merlin. Ever. 

So. He’d try this. This… _feeling_ thing. Allowing himself to feel what he felt. It was terrifying, yes. But… but also, strangely exciting. Whatever he felt for Merlin, it was strong. And it made him feel warm inside. Light. Happy. Love, infatuation… did it matter, at the moment? He had already figured he wouldn’t try anything with Merlin until, at the very least, everything blew over. Who knew how long that would take? Weeks, months... years? He probably would have figured out his feelings by then, so it would hopefully be fine. 

And Gaius was right. If he didn’t want to hurt Merlin… then he wouldn’t. If he actively did his best to not hurt the man, then he wouldn’t. And if he ever did, by accident… then he’d just have to fix it. Make up for it. 

It was terrifying. The thought of allowing himself to feel, to experience… it was a lot. But maybe it would be worth it, in the end. If they could work it all out. Regardless, he had to learn how to spend the rest of his life beside the man, whether or not they were in love. They had a lot of time to figure it out. 

With that settled, for the moment, Arthur wandered over to Gaius and smiled slightly as he settled in to help the man with his potion making. Gaius didn’t say anything, just smiled gratefully back. 

For the next couple hours Arthur and Gaius fell into a comfortable rhythm, Arthur handing Gaius the ingredients he needed, sometimes before he even asked. It was comfortable. Only one patient arrived that day, complaining of a stomachache. Gaius had looked at Arthur and asked him what he thought the problem was. It hadn’t been the first time Gaius had asked for his evaluation of a case, but it was the first when a patient was there. 

A little wide eyed, Arthur eventually determined that they had gas from eating a greasy meal from the inn and prescribed an herbal potion Gaius made for gas. It had no magic in it, so it was one he was familiar with, as he made them for Gaius often. Gaius had smiled at him proudly and nodded, saying that was his exact diagnosis as well. Arthur had the feeling the older man had determined the diagnosis after half a minute, maybe less, but he still felt proud that he’d figured it out, even if it had taken him five minutes. 

After the patient left, Arthur took the potions Gaius had made and helped deliver them around the castle and lower town. The rain hadn’t started when he headed out into the town, so he was safe from the frigid water. By the time he was finished, however, the sky was growing darker with rain clouds, so he quickened his pace back to Gaius’s quarters. Not a moment too soon, he thought sardonically, as it began to drizzle when he entered the castle gate. He booked it the last few feet to cover, watching with amusement as the drizzle turned into a torrent of rain, the people who had been wandering in the square yelling and dashing for cover. He had still gotten wet, but it wasn’t as bad as some of the people who were now screaming. 

As he entered the familiar warmth of Gaius’s quarters, he shook out his hair, which had gotten mildly damp due to his brief exposure. Gaius tutted as he got droplets of water over the various papers scattered around. Arthur gave a sheepish smile in return, making Gaius sigh and shake his head. 

“Were you able to finish the deliveries before the rain started? Or are there more deliveries for tomorrow?”

Arthur grinned roguishly at Gaius, who tutted once more. At least he wasn’t clucking. 

“What do you take me for, Gaius? Of course, I finished! The lovely Ms. Marisa wanted me to give you her thanks most arduously.”

Gaius laughed, grinning. 

“I’m surprised a four-year-old knew such a large word! Though, young Ms. Marisa has always surprised me with her intelligence. Perhaps you have much to learn from her, hm, Arthur?” 

How rude. Arthur put his hand to his chest and gasped over exaggeratedly. 

“Gaius! You wound me. I will say, though, that it would be an honor to study under such a master. I cannot even imagine what that would be like. Learning from a master,” Arthur added, grinning again as Gaius’s mouth opened in faux offense. Instead of continuing their game, Gaius just rolled his eyes and smiled warmly. 

“I am glad you were able to skip most of the rain, my boy. Would you like me to dry your clothes with a spell?”

Arthur nodded absently, removing Merlin’s charm briefly so Gaius’s magic could work. Arthur didn’t feel Gaius’s magic as strongly as he felt Merlin’s, but it was warm when it washed over him. Though, that might have been because it was a drying charm Gaius used. Still, it was pleasant and made him feel warm and cared for. His hair was a bit poofy, though, so he patted it down the best he could. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I took a look around your room earlier to make sure there was nothing incriminating lying around. Not that I think you’d be that foolish, but the king is extra tense from the recent attack. I wanted to make sure there was nothing he might possibly take offense to. I didn’t move anything, though. You’ve done a good job keeping your nightly activities hidden. Though, really, Arthur. Organization would be helpful. I could barely see the floor!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, shrugging. He had enough chores (mostly self-appointed, but still) that it was hard to find the energy to clean his own room. Besides. It didn’t bother him usually. And, honestly, it wasn’t that bad. Merlin was worse, the few times Arthur had returned from a sick spell and noticed how messy the quarters had gotten. How a man could make such a mess in such a short time, he didn’t know. Anyway, he only needed enough space to practice his swordplay steps, which he did as far from the window as he could. It wasn’t the best set up, but it worked for him. 

“Thanks, Gaius. Merlin told me that he’d be searching it later, so I would have done it myself. Gives me one less thing to worry about.”

“Mm,” Gaius agreed, going back to… whatever it was he was doing. Looked like some advanced form of chemistry, which still made Arthur’s head hurt to look at, let alone study. 

It was about ten minutes later that Merlin showed up, looking apologetic but firm, apologizing to Gaius for the interruption, though his eyes were firmly locked on Arthur as he said the words. Arthur, in return, gave a soft smile before scowling. 

The process of searching his room didn’t take long. The guards made a mess, though, which was annoying. Yes, his room was messy, but it was _his_ mess. Their mess was a bother. Merlin looked around a little himself, pausing at his bedside table. It was when Merlin blushed brightly and gave him a side look that Arthur remembered the oil he stashed in there, for his, ahem. Other nightly activities. 

Arthur couldn’t help the blush that formed on his cheeks, but- after making sure the guards weren’t looking- winked at Merlin with a smug grin on his face. He adored the way Merlin’s face lit up bright red, though he answered with a secret smile before putting the oil away. 

He still didn’t know how he felt about the man. He was sure what he felt must be love. It had to be. It was just… so intense. He wasn’t sure if the feeling could be trusted. 

The interview was fairly easy, though. It wasn’t awkward talking to Merlin, which relieved him. Part of him had feared he’d have felt awkward around the other man, now. It had honestly been a little fun, acting annoyed at Merlin’s questions even though he honestly didn’t mind. He had nothing to hide. 

Though he did pause at one question Merlin asked. 

“Do you have any reason to suspect anyone of being part of the rebel group?”

Arthur had actually paused there, though he knew he shouldn’t have. Merlin even raised an eyebrow, indicating he noticed the hesitation. He hadn’t been able to help it. He did suspect someone of being part of the group, after all. It just happened to be his estranged father, whom he’d never met and had no idea if the man were even still alive. Figuring that would be hard to explain, even without revealing his heritage and incriminating himself, Arthur shrugged and answered no. It was a good thing Merlin trusted him, he felt, or else that would have ended poorly. 

Once the interview was over, Merlin left, requesting his presence that night after he had finished his interviews, which he estimated would take another hour. His eyes were significant on him as he said the words, making Arthur warm and tingly inside. He remembered the previous night, holding the prince so close. Maybe… well. Maybe things would end similarly that night. One could dream. 

Then it was him and Gaius again. Gaius has finished his work for the day and was reading a book while he ate a late dinner. Arthur joined the man, like he usually did for dinner, since Merlin typically ate with his family each night. It was nice, he felt. Easy. 

“So,” Arthur started, after a few minutes had passed. He’d been internally debating how to begin the conversation, not wanting to mortify himself any more than he already had that day. Gaius looked up from his book, Dreaded Eyebrow of Doom raised high. Ugh. He internally shuddered. He swore, that thing gave him nightmares. Nevertheless, never let it be said that Arthur was a coward. He never backed down. So, he inhaled, and spoke. 

“You told me. To, uh. Inform you if I wasn’t going to be back in my room. Well. There is no guarantee, but… well. I might not. Tonight, that is… well…”

Shit. Abort! Abort! 

Somehow, Gaius’s eyebrow raised even _further_ (how? How was that even possible?!) and a gleam that Arthur decidedly _did not like_ entered the aged eyes. He had hoped Gaius had loved him enough to not be ruthless, but he had been wrong. Gaius didn’t love him. Gaius loved nobody. Bastard. 

“Oh, really?” Gaius questioned, something akin to evil glee in his tone. Ohh, no. God. Why? “And why is that my boy?”

Arthur clenched his jaw, glaring at the wall. Fuck his life. 

“I fail to see how that is any concern of yours, Gaius,” he replied coolly, with as much dignity as he could muster. Gaius clucked (chicken! He was a bloody chicken!) and shook his head. He then stood up and walked over to his bookshelf. Arthur looked after him, confused. 

“I will not tell you how to live your life, Arthur. What a man does in the privacy of the dark is no business of mine. But I will not allow you to go about business without knowing some key features of male anatomy that I fear your mother may have missed, if she spoke to you about this at all. Now, I know you will be meeting the prince in less than an hour, so we’ve got a lot to cover in a short amount of time, I fear. Settle in, my boy.”

What was he talking about? 

“Gaius, what are you-“ Arthur cut off as he saw the title of the book Gaius held. _Male anatomy and the basics of sexual intimacy_. All blood drained from his face as Arthur shot up, eyes wide. 

“No! No, no! I’m good! Really, Gaius, it’s not like that, I know all I need to know, thank you-“

“Sit down, Arthur,” Gaius stated forcefully, tone hard but eyes filled with that evil gleam. Oh, that bastard. He was enjoying this. Gaius was dead to him. Officially, truly dead. “I want to make sure you are prepared! Tell me, do you know what genital warts are?” 

No. No, he didn’t. And he’d like to keep it that way, thanks ever so! 

But he had no say in the matter. Gaius had decided. Arthur tried to explain it wasn’t like that, that they weren’t… _you know_ , but Gaius was having none of it. 

And thus, followed the worst hour of his young life. And that really was saying something. After all. His life kind of sucked. 

“And there. Now you know why it is so important to always use protection. Since you are non-magical, you cannot use the typical spells and charms I’d recommend, but there are potions you can take to keep yourself and your partner safe. It also helps prevent pregnancy, though I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. They are a bit tricky to make, but I will make some up for you, to be on the safe side. In case your partner ever forgets.” 

Arthur heard the man but didn’t reply. He was staring blankly at the wall, eyes dead. Part of him hoped that the wall would come alive and trample him, so he didn’t have to live with the knowledge Gaius had just enforced on him. It had been bad enough, his mother talking to him briefly about how he should be careful having intercourse with a woman, as such things could lead to pregnancy. He never needed to know the things Gaius had told him. Ever. Oh, God. 

“Now, now. Cheer up, my boy. It’s important to know your own anatomy! Now you will be safe. Even if what is keeping you at night truly isn’t _like that_ , this will keep you safe in the future. I’m only telling you this because I love you, Arthur.”

Oh, fuck that. Arthur snorted, looking away from the wall to turn a sardonic eye on Gaius. To his credit, the older man tried to look innocent, but failed after a moment, breaking into cruel laughter a second later, eyes filled with mirth. Dead. To. Him. 

“I hate you,” Arthur intoned, though he didn’t mean it. In fact, he actually, privately (very privately!) was kind of grateful. He truly _hadn’t_ known how important protection was, sex not something one talked about in polite company. Or how, you know. _That_ all worked. (Especially with a man. It had been even more mortifying, but Gaius had carefully explained how it worked, not breaking from his lecturer tone. Arthur had been horrified, even though he knew Gaius knew his proclivities, but it had strangely fascinated him). 

Now, don’t get him wrong. It had been mortifying and he never wanted to do it again, but it had been informative. 

Gaius calmed down after a moment and looked at him with fond eyes, kind smile on his lips. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur. But this was for your own good. I remember when I told Merlin this stuff, when he turned twelve. He had turned bright red and wouldn’t look anyone in the eyes for days. Freya was so concerned, but he refused to even look at her, the poor girl. It was hard to keep a straight face.”

Okay. Maybe Gaius was less dead to him. Arthur couldn’t help the grin that formed at the thought of Mini Merlin, receiving the same information Gaius had just told him, forced to interact with his crush. He knew the pair were more siblings than anything else these days, so it tickled him to think, instead of making his stomach roil with jealousy. 

Rolling his eyes, he stood with a flourish, glaring at the older man. He was still mortified, after all. Embarrassing Mini Merlin stories couldn’t fix that. 

“Well. This has been the most horrible hour of my life that I will never get back. Now, I need to go see Merlin and hope that I don’t act like a bloody fool in front of him. Thank you ever so much, Gaius. Really.”

Arthur tried to put as much disdain and contempt in his voice, making Gaius chuckle some more. Arthur tried to keep his annoyed front, but he caved when Gaius gave him a fond look, eyes so tender it hurt. Sighing, Arthur rolled his eyes and moved forward to briefly hug the older man. One of those manly side hugs. Because he was a manly man. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, begrudgingly. Mercifully, Gaius didn’t comment, just smiled kindly and nodded once. 

Done with that (and he would never speak on it, ever again!) he exited the quarters and headed up to Merlin. 

To his shock, and quiet dismay, he managed to beat the prince there. He had thought he’d be late. This didn’t bode well for the prince. It meant the interviews had run long. 

Deciding to be productive, Arthur fluttered around the room, cleaning up the last little bit from Merlin’s rage the previous night. Wow. It had only been one day, huh? It had felt longer, what with his picnic and panic and talks with Gaius. It felt like an eternity had passed that day. 

He hadn’t been able to finish cleaning when Merlin entered, dead tired and radiating agony. 

There was one good thing, at least. Any residual embarrassment from his earlier talk faded as worry filled him, hurrying to Merlin’s side to help. 

Later, as Merlin worked on his reports (back tense and angry, making Arthur’s back ache in sympathy) and after he had finished cleaning the room, Arthur requested a tub be sent up, with relaxing lavender and lilac oils to be added. It was Merlin’s typical bath day, and the man looked like he needed it. For relaxation, that is. He didn’t smell. Or, if he did, it wasn’t a scent Arthur minded. Definitely not. 

Blushing, Arthur shook his head to get the thoughts out. Unbidden, his mind flashed back to Gaius’s talk, about how male sex worked, making him blush a brighter red. He even accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in Merlin’s mirror and was mortified at how much like a tomato he looked. 

Luckily (or not, as it was bad for the prince), Merlin was focused so intently on his paperwork that he didn’t notice. He didn’t even look up as the bath was brought in, tub supported by two strong servants, pitchers of water being brought by serving girls. There was a serving sorceress there, as well, who heated the water with a spell. He glared at them whenever they made any noise, not wishing to bother Merlin if he was working that intently. He hoped the water wouldn’t cool too much before the man finished, but knew it wouldn’t matter. Merlin could heat it up, like that sorceress had. 

Now, he hadn’t meant to touch Merlin when he had finally finished his work, eyes landing on the bath. He had just seen the man, struggling to take off his robes and had… well. 

Servants typically helped their masters bathe, he had told himself, face heating as he lathered the warm skin up, heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t meant to look at Merlin’s… that. He’d just been remembering Gaius’s diagrams, his words, and his eyes… well. They had wandered. And then his hands had wandered, his body craving to touch the other man. Maybe it was or wasn’t love, but god did he feel lust. 

That would have mortified him, once. Knowing he longed for the touch of a man. To be touched by a man. To, well. Fuck a man. 

He had grown, he acknowledged, drying Merlin off carefully. He decidedly did not look any farther south than his stomach, though he could feel the heat of what he knew was there. He had brushed it, accidentally of course, while bathing Merlin. He had had to fight to not grab it outright, putting Gaius’s information to good use (which, by the by, had actually helped to control his arousal. It was hard to be painfully aroused when remembering things that the man who was practically one’s father had told them about sex.) 

Merlin had insisted to dress himself, face bright red, which Arthur could understand. It likely would have been too much, if he had to touch that too warm skin any longer. He already felt ready to burst. If either he or Merlin had been mentally prepared for a deeper relationship, by god, would he have done something about the nearly unbearable tension. As it was, he knew neither were ready for that. He certainly wasn’t. 

He had been able to calm himself down while Merlin changed, though, making it easier to sit beside him on the bed, Merlin’s shoulders tense once more. 

Arthur moved closer and let his hand fall on Merlin’s mid back, his voice low as he spoke. 

“Get some rest, Merlin,” he muttered, 

causing the boy to lean against him. Heart full, Arthur ran his fingers through the wet curls, loving how the silky strands slipped through his splayed fingers. It had been strangely intimate, washing Merlin’s hair. He could have sworn the man had moaned a couple times when he’d tugged the hair a little harsher than intended. He had quickly tucked that nugget of information away into his back pocket. No reason, of course. 

A moment passed, intimate and sweet, before Merlin’s voice piped up. 

“Stay?” The man whispered, soft against his chest. Arthur felt his heart beat fast again, a smile rising on his face. God. He’d been hoping Merlin would ask that. It made his earlier mortification worth it. Arthur hummed and nodded, so happy it almost hurt. 

“Okay. I, uh. Already informed Gaius it was a possibility,” Arthur admitted, blush rising as he remembered the horror that followed that conversation. Not that he’d ever tell Merlin about it. As it was, he heard Merlin laugh, his nose pressing firmly against his chest. He had a moment to panic, knowing it had been several days since he had last bathed (he was lucky if he got a full bath once a week, though he made sure to pat himself off with a wet towel, especially after his sword exercises. Merlin’s New Year gift was a god send, most day). Merlin didn’t seem to mind that he reeked of stale sweat and grime, though. That was good. 

Figuring that it would be good to dress for bed, Arthur reluctantly stood and looked into Merlin’s wardrobe. He didn’t think the man would mind. 

_Maybe I should bring some of my night clothes here_ , he mused, before blushing. That was assuming this became a regular thing. 

The blush deepened when he heard Merlin let out an appreciative hum, realizing suddenly that Merlin was watching him. Like he had the night before. Hmm. Perhaps Merlin liked this sort of thing. Watching him unclothe. Another nugget of information to tuck away. 

Finally, he finished dressing (definitely not going slower, giving the man a show. Decidedly not. He was offended anyone would think such a thing), before he entered bed, arms open in a silent bid of welcome. Part of him felt it was too obvious, that he was taking far too many liberties, but his fears were laid to rest when Merlin immediately crept into his arms, sighing happily as he snuggled close. 

It was adorable, Arthur thought, soft smile on his lips. He couldn’t help his own happy sigh in return, burying his nose in the still damp hair. It should be uncomfortable, but it really wasn’t. He liked it, actually. The scent of Merlin’s soap was overwhelming, but underneath was the scent he had come to associate with Merlin, at his core. He couldn’t even begin to describe it, other than it smelled… pure. Powerful. Extremely nice. 

Holding Merlin in his arms again was like a balm to a wound he never knew he had. Like he was finally whole. Yes, the thoughts were sappy. Yes, they made a part of him, deep inside, recoil with mortification. But mostly? He was just… happy.

He knew times were awful. He knew things would be hard. Merlin had told him, almost accidentally, that five people had died in the rebel attack and that twenty more had been injured. That wasn’t nothing. That would require retaliation. Merlin hadn’t told him what had happened in the meeting, like Gaius had claimed, but Arthur knew it hadn’t been good. Merlin had looked so dark, following the meeting. So worried. He wouldn’t ask the man, though maybe he’d ask Gaius later. He wanted to know, even though part of him truly didn’t. 

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he heard Merlin snuffle softly, eyes closed and face relaxed. Arthur couldn’t help the smile that rose on his face. He let his hand run over Merlin’s back, rubbing soft circles, the man plaint in his arms. 

He wanted so desperately for this to become an everyday occurrence. To wake up and see Merlin first thing in the morning. To fall asleep, Merlin’s face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep, the last thing he saw. To sleep beside this incredible man, who housed such terrible power, and be allowed to hold him. 

Maybe it was love. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe this would last. Maybe not. 

All he knew was that when he held Merlin, it was like he was holding the entire world in his arms. He’d never felt so much before. Love, infatuation, who cared? He’d let himself feel it. Wouldn’t let it scare him. It wasn’t magic. He had known that even before Gaius had pretty much confirmed it. Magic didn’t go this deep. 

He’d see where this led them. He wouldn’t let his own insecurities ruin this, like they had ruined things with Gwen. This time would be different. This time would be better. 

He swore it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Another summary that I added back when I wrote this story for... mysterious reasons that are mysterious even to me.)
> 
> Really Serious summary: 
> 
> Arthur has a Big Gay Panic moment and realizes he should ask his Adoptive Dad for some fatherly advice. They share a bonding moment over Arthur not being awful at medicine, before Arthur bites the bullet and asks Gaius the age-old question, “What is love?” To which Gaius replies “~~Baby don’t hurt me~~”
> 
> Just kidding. What really happens is that Arthur states he loves Merlin, but doesn’t know if it is love or not, since it was different to his love for Gwen. He asks Gaius if what he feels is love or not, to which Gaius replies that he doesn’t know, as all love manifests differently. Arthur is frustrated at this answer, but eventually accepts it and realizes that regardless, he doesn’t want Merlin to get hurt, so that would have to be enough. 
> 
> Then he and Gaius bond more over medicine, before Merlin comes to interview Arthur. Arthur acts a little suspicious, when asked if he suspects anyone of being involved with the rebels (due to his fears of his father being involved), but Merlin doesn’t press it and it’s all fine. 
> 
> Following that, Arthur (stupidly) tells Gaius he plans to not be around that night. Gaius, horrible person he is, decides it is high time that Arthur learned about the birds and the bees. Whether Arthur wants him to or not. And Arthur most definitely does not.
> 
> Not given a choice, Arthur suffers through the Worst Hour of his Life (tm). Gaius is officially dead to him, even though the man kindly informed him how gay butt sex works. But do you really want your honorary dad to tell you about gay butt sex?? The answer is no. No, you do not. Even though it was helpful, and you actually feel kind of grateful to know how to not get medieval herpes now. 
> 
> After that, Arthur meets up with Merlin (which is strangely not as awkward as he would have thought, following Gaius’s The Talk), and the events from the end of the last chapter occur, just in Arthur’s perspective. 
> 
> Also, Arthur is a sap. But that’s a given. 


	24. The Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what's going on at this point, aha. This is a dramatic chapter and I don't even know anymore.

Merlin was tired. So very tired. Beyond tired, even. Was there a word for that? Gaius always used the term ‘bone tired,’ but even that wasn’t enough. 

It had been a long three weeks, was his point. 

The lockdown had ended up lasting four days. Four days of Merlin heading into town and handling the steadily more and more panicked citizens. They were afraid. Merlin didn’t blame them. He just wished he had more to tell them than he did. 

His father’s scouts had returned after the third day, telling how the town was contained, with the non-magical townspeople rounded up and sent to their harshest reform camp. Merlin had grit his teeth, unable to look his father in the eye at the news. They could have at least been sent to a more lenient camp. But no. Only the worst for the innocent villagers. 

There hadn’t been anymore deaths, at least, and the injured parties were set to make a full recovery. Well, most. One had lost a leg, the scout had claimed grimly, causing his father to grimace. Leg amputations were a harsh reality. And the man was only in his early twenties, an infant daughter to help raise. Magic would help, but it couldn’t bring his leg back. 

At least he was alive, Merlin privately felt. That was what mattered. 

Legislation after that had been dreadful. His father had made an official proclamation, once the lockdown had ended and word could be spread to the rest of the kingdom. Anyone suspected to be harboring rebels would be apprehended and interrogated intensely. If association with the rebel group was determined, execution was the penalty. 

Merlin knew his father thought it sounded strong. Proud. All he could hear was fear. Desperation. He’d never thought his father to be weaker. 

Freya hated it all. He was still busy, though his father no longer sent him out to various crime scenes. Mostly because there hadn’t been one at all since the attack. Like they were waiting. Even still, he was constantly sent around the castle, doing this or that. He had managed to see Freya a couple times, once for lunch, and once when he’d been alone. 

Typically he spent most of his time around Arthur, but that day he’d been interviewing servants again, right after the lockdown ended. This time it was the ones who had been considered suspicious. He’d waited a few days, given them time to relax, and then had called them in to interrogate them. He hated the tactic, but it was effective. He had found one servant who had harbored well wishes for the rebels. He hadn’t been part of the rebellion, though. A fact that Merlin despised when his father sentenced the man to death anyway. It would have been easier to stomach had he at least been a member. As it was, he’d never forget the screams of his young son, begging his father to come back, even as his head rolled away. 

Anyway, Freya had sought him out after the interviews, before the heartbreaking execution. She had looked wane and distraught, like something was bothering her. It hurt his heart to see it. 

“Merlin, please. You have to do something about this. Your father is out of control. He won’t listen to me! I’ve been begging him to stop this, that it’s madness. He threatened to lock me in the dungeon if I brought it up again! Please, Merlin. This can’t go on any longer.”

A burst of anger and hatred had rushed through him at the girl’s words. How dare he?! His father had no right to threaten Freya! She was good, and pure, and sweet. But he curbed the rage and smiled tightly, dragging her into an alcove, not caring what the guards thought. 

“I’ve been trying, Freya. He won’t listen. He thinks this is what he has to do. He says he’s done too much to give up now. He won’t stop. He can’t.”

Frustrated tears had filled his sister’s eyes, then, anger filling them. It hurt him to see. 

“He’s making enemies. Too many enemies. We won’t recover from this, Merlin. How will people ever trust you after this is done? He will have tainted the Emrys line for good, I fear. I just… I _can’t_ …”

Merlin had wrapped his arms around the girl, then, pulling her close as she cried. He understood how she felt. He feared the same thing. How would anyone be able to trust an Emrys after this? Would even he be able to? His sister continued before he could formulate a soothing response. 

“Morgana hates it too. I hear her cry with anger every night. I’ve tried to get her to talk to me, but she’s closing off. She won’t talk. I don’t know what to do, Merlin. I feel like I’m losing her. I, I love her, Merlin. So much. So very, very much. It hurts me to think of it, sometimes. I can’t bear to lose her. I can’t.”

Oh, and how he knew that feeling. 

The only difference was that he and Arthur had never been closer together. Literally. 

Every night they slept in the same bed, Arthur wrapping Merlin in his tight embrace. It was incredible. Magical. For all that Arthur had no magic, he worked magic on Merlin. It was the only explanation. For the man to be able to take all his fear and worry and sooth it with a single touch… no, a single _glance_ … it was magic. Had to be. More powerful than any he’d ever been able to wield. 

To even think of losing him... Merlin held his sister tighter, shushing her softly. 

“You won’t, Freya. I’ve seen you two together. She adores you. She’s just having a rough time of it. She cares so much about the servants; my investigations are hurting her.”

“Then stop! Stop conducting them! The servants are not a threat to us, Merlin. Not unless we make them into ones.”

Oh, if only it were that simple! He had to do as his father commanded. More than his father, Balinor was his _king_. And more than a son, Merlin was a servant to the king. He did what was asked. That was the one thing that had been drilled into his head as a child. And he’d spent enough nights in the dungeon, his father saying that was what he’d get if he disobeyed, to have learned that lesson well. 

“I can’t, Freya. You know I can’t. He’s my _king_ ,” he stressed, hoping she would understand. Hoping she wouldn’t hate him. She let out a noise of frustration, but nodded faintly against his chest a moment later. 

“I know, Merlin. I know. I just… I hate this. So much. I wish this would end.”

Merlin laughed mirthlessly, squeezing his eyes shut against the frustration he felt building within him. He knew how she felt. 

“I know. I do too. I’m trying, Freya. God, I’m trying. Please believe me.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Freya breathed, looking up at him with watery eyes. She smiled, though it was crooked and wobbly. “I know you are. You are so good, so pure. If anyone can save this kingdom, it is you. I only hope you’re not too late.”

If only. 

With that, the pair had parted, Merlin needing to write the report that would, unbeknown to him, lead to the death of an innocent man. Freya hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes for days afterwards, knowing his investigations had lead to the horrific sight. He’d never forget the five year old boy, clinging to a lifeless body, until guards had pulled him away. He’d never be able to fix that. Not as long as he lived. 

Now it was three weeks following the attack and they were still at square one. They had no idea who was involved and no idea how to make them stop. Merlin wanted to negotiate, though his father refused. Refused to back down. His stubbornness would get them all killed. 

The day had started like any other, those past three weeks. With Merlin, warm and safe, enclosed in the arms of the man he was head over heels in love with. 

“Good morning, my prince,” a sleep husky voice murmured into his ear, making him shudder. Oh, he longed to lean up and kiss the lips that made such wonderful sounds. 

But that had sadly ended the normalcy, as before he could reply, an incessant knocking at his door forced him up, eyes wide as he stared at his servant. 

Arthur, to his credit, switched over far quicker than he did. Pulling on his thin jacket (to cover the obviously rich night clothes he was wearing, far richer than a servant could ever afford) he opened the door. He and the person outside traded tense words, before Arthur returned inside, face pale and worried. He tried to hide it with a smile, but it was brittle and looked like a light breeze could break it. And then he spoke, breaking any hope of it being nothing serious. 

“There’s been another attack. Your father wants you in the war room immediately. Don’t bother with your robes; regular clothes will do.”

Well. Wasn’t that a nice wake up call? 

Fuck. Merlin hurriedly got out of bed, shedding off his clothes as he did, and frantically put on a random outfit from his wardrobe. He didn’t offer a single complaint when Arthur came over and helped him when he got tangled, too panicked to feel any hint of arousal or shame. Once dressed, he felt strong arms grip him, his blue eyes meeting another pair. 

“Merlin. Calm down. You need to take a deep breath and think clearly. You’re no help to anyone if you’re this panicked. Breathe.”

Arthur’s voice was soft and soothing, his thumb rubbing calming circles on his upper arm. Christ. What would he do without this man to keep him grounded? He couldn’t have born the last few months without him. 

Listening to the man, his heart began to slow, his breath becoming more stable and less ragged. He stared deep into the bright blue pools and felt like he was drowning, and yet he’d never felt better. He almost managed to forget what had been the matter in the first place as he stared deeply at the man he adored. 

A moment later, though, the spell broke and he remembered why he’d been panicked in the first place. And the fear returned. 

He was calmer, though. More stable. He smiled weakly at Arthur and nodded his thanks, before he rushed out of the room. He was wearing a purple silk top, typically used for fancy occasions, and green linen trousers, meant for his training (which, by the by, he hadn’t had a chance to do in ages. His second in command had taken over training the other Mages, as he took the most experienced and tried to find a solution to their problem). The look didn’t match at all, but no one gave him a second glance as they all rushed around, preparing the castle for another lock down. 

“Father,” Merlin blurted as he entered the war room, a room full of maps and various treaties. It was one he’d rarely entered; only once, really, for an actual war. He’d been eighteen and his father had wanted to show him how strategy worked. He was as nervous now as he had been then, though he was far more afraid. 

His father glanced up at his hasty entrance, barely pausing in his barking of orders, men all around as they fluttered away to do as his father commanded. A minute of this passed, Merlin vibrating so hard he feared he’d burst, when his father finally turned his attention on him. 

And oh, did his father look exhausted. Like he hadn’t slept in months. Maybe that was the case. He knew that if it weren’t for Arthur, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep at all since the first attack. 

“Prince Merlin. There has been a second attack. This time on the town of Willowsvale. There is no word yet on any casualties. It appears they are holding the town, not attacking. That’s not the troubling news, however.”

Oh, that wasn’t what was troubling?! Christ, how worse could it get?

Much, he thought numbly, as his father handed him a note. It appeared to be-

“A list of demands,” Merlin breathed, eyes widening as he read the words from the rebel group. The first contact they’d had, actually. So far, no one had contacted them about what the rebels wanted. This was… fuck. 

It read:

_Dear Balinor (for I refuse to call you a king, as you’ve no right to the title),_

_I am writing you today to inform you of how disappointed your actions have made me. For years I have been watching your reign and I cannot begin to express my utter sorrow and anger at what you have done._

_It is with my deepest sorrow that I make this list of demands. I do not expect you to follow any of them. But I promise you, false king. They will happen, one way or another. I promise you that._

  1. _Turn over your crown. You are not fit for such an honor, as you lack honor entirely. You condemn innocent people to slavery, for being different to you. You are no king._
  2. _Leave Camelot completely. You are not wanted here._
  3. _Rescind your laws. Before you leave your paper throne, right your wrongs and fix the crimes you have committed._
  4. _Give up your magic. Magic corrupts and I can see how it has blinded you. Denounce it, and maybe then I will show you mercy._



_By the time you have read this, I will have taken over the town of Willowsvale. No death need occur here today; death is not my aim. You, false king, are the harbinger of death. But I will not be afraid to let blood shed should you refuse my demands._

_Do not bother to use your pathetic and cowardly magic against us. It took me decades to discover, but I have learned of a way to counter your monstrous magic and nothing you do can break it. If you must fight, fight like a man. Wield a sword and ride out to battle me. I have been training years for this moment and I will savor the moment your body drains of life at my sword. You, false king, have stolen everything from me. My status. My wife. My son and daughter. Everything._

_It need not come to a duel, however. I am a merciful man, though you do not know the meaning of the word mercy. Lay down your crown, rescind your laws, and we can walk away without any blood shed. The lives lost here will not be on my conscious, but yours._

_Choose wisely. You have until tonight at midnight to decide. If you fail to accept my demands, you will force my hands. Magic is evil, but I have no desire to see lives lost._

_Make your choice,_

_The Dragon_.

Merlin was shaking as he read the last words, his heart plummeting as he read the signature. Beside the name was the drawing of a little dragon. A golden dragon on a blood red splotch

The crest of Pendragon. 

Arthur had been wrong, Merlin thought numbly, eyes glassy as he looked back at his father. He’d trusted him, and…

“We’re locking down the citadel. We do not know how accurate his claim of finding an artifact that repels magic is, as I’ve certainly never heard of such an artifact, or else I’d have had it destroyed long ago. I am sending an army to Willowsvale to meet these cowards,” his father growled, eyes dark with anger and hatred. “This, Merlin, is why we do not show mercy. They’d show us no mercy in our place. Monsters. I’m assuming you recognize the crest, as well as I? It was on the seal for the letter as well. Mercy was never an option. Not with Uther Pendragon.”

Merlin felt dead and numb inside. He looked at the letter but couldn’t see it. Mercy. The letter spoke of mercy. More mercy than his own father had ever shown, even if it was a facade. 

“This is not all,” the king intoned, eyes dark. Oh, God. He didn’t think he could take anymore. “You and the Mages conducted interviews with all of the servants, yes?”

Well, yes. Of course. He’d been doing that for weeks. He nodded, his father’s eyes darkening further. 

“Do it again. Probe harder. Ask deeper questions. Only your most trusted can conduct the interviews. I’d say only you, but we don’t have time. We have a traitor in our midst. We must find them before it is too late.”

Wait. What?

“Father, wait. How do you know there is a traitor? What evidence points to this fact?”

He had been expecting his father to yell at him and say of course there was a traitor, they couldn’t trust any non-magical person. Instead his father looked at him hard and grabbed the letter he still was absently holding, shaking it for emphasis. 

“This letter. It appeared in my room this morning, sitting on my desk. Before the news of the attack sounded. Whoever ‘The Dragon’ is, and I’m fairly certain we both know their identity, he had help from the inside. We must snuff him out. Before he kills us all. I’ve already sentenced my manservant to death, as he must have turned a blind eye to whoever entered my rooms.”

Fuck. Merlin felt his knees weaken, mind blank and numb. 

A moment passed before Merlin could speak.

“I’ve already spoken to the servants. I doubt I’ll find anything else. And must you kill Adam? He’s always been the perfect servant. He wouldn’t betray you, my king.”

His father laughed, the sound harsh and cruel. 

“You are too soft. Conduct the interviews again. I have had the Court advisors draw up a list of questions to ask. Were there any that stood out to you, in your prior investigations?”

He noticed that his father ignored his comments about Adam. He felt sick. Adam has been his fathers manservant for years. He was a good man. His children were grown, but he’d recently become a grandfather. It wasn’t fair. He swallowed thickly before shaking his head. He refused to be the reason another servant died. He couldn’t. 

“N-no, my king. Everything I found I put in my reports.”

His father stared at him, long and hard. He was a statue again. Dark and almost sinister. A parody of a man. Looked enough like one to fool the naked eye, but look hard enough and all you’d see was solid marble. 

“And what of your manservant? What about him?”

Merlin’s heart stopped, eyes wide, before he shook his head. Too frantic, he realized with panic, seeing as his father narrowed his eyes at him. Ohhh. This was not good. 

“What about him, my king? He has done nothing to make me suspect him.”

“Has he not? I’ve seen you two interact. He is barely respectful and spends more time glaring than not. That, Prince Merlin, is suspicious.”

Merlin cursed his past self. Yes, being distant helped keep his father from sending Arthur away. But now that he wanted to prove Arthur’s innocence (and he was innocent. He had to be), he couldn’t without backing himself into a corner. 

Still. He had to try. 

“He and I have reached an- an understanding. I do not suspect him, my king. He would not betray me.”

The king laughed again, the sound harsher than the steel kiss of a blade. 

“And are you willing to bet your life on that? Your people’s lives?”

Fuck. He knew the question was loaded. Saw the anger and suppressed rage rising in his father’s eyes. No matter what he said, he’d be damned. Say no, subject Arthur to execution, as his father wouldn’t care if he was actually guilty or not. 

However. Say yes…

And his father would know. His feelings. Where his loyalty lied. 

Part of him was angry at Arthur. After all, he’d trusted the man. Had believed his words and had given up his search into the Pendragon household. Arthur had trusted them, and that had been enough for him. 

But Arthur had been wrong. 

The question remained, however, if it had been a simple mistake or not. He hoped it had been. Misplaced trust in an old family friend. If not…

Well. 

He couldn’t even think it. 

“Yes,” he eventually breathed, knowing he was revealing everything he had kept hidden for years, but couldn’t hide any longer. He couldn’t be the reason Arthur was killed. He’d rather throw himself on the chopping block himself. 

He knew the instant his father realized his words for what they were. Intense rage filled those aged eyes, a snarl on his lips. He composed himself quickly, but his anger remained. 

“Well I do not. He will be executed at sundown.”

“No,” Merlin stated, heart stopped as ice filled his veins. His magic crackled outward, frost covering the room as his inner cold bled into the real world. He couldn’t hear any words. Everything sounded like it came from underwater. Muffled and distant. His father seemed distorted. Like a monster. Not a man. Not a king. 

Disgusting.

“You have no say in the matter. The boy will die. It is decided.”

Merlin felt his magic crackle around him, eyes glowing as it flowed through him. He wasn’t looking at his father, just then. He was looking at a monster. A beast who wore his fathers clothes and stole his father’s face. This wasn’t the man he loved. The man he, once, respected. 

This man was nothing. 

“If you try, you will regret it.”

His voice was dark. It almost seemed to echo. His power was strong, magic mighty. Ice had covered the room, thick and bitter. For a second, he thought his father would strike him. He could feel magic rise against his, but it was no match for his terrible power. He’d raze the kingdom got the ground if anyone even touched Arthur. He didn’t care. 

However, before he could make good on his threat, his father deflated. He looked down, suddenly looking so weary and bone tired that it shocked Merlin out of his anger. He felt a flash of concern, which he pushed down when he remembered what his father had tried to do. Was still trying to do. 

“You trust him, then? Completely?”

The words were dull. Numb. Lifeless. He’d never heard his father so dejected. So worn down. Merlin hesitated, then nodded. 

“With my life. He is not involved with these rebellions. I swear it, my king. And if I find out he is? Then I-“ Merlin choked here, throat thick. But he had to say it. Had to get his father to believe him. “-then I will sentence him to death myself. You have my word he is innocent.”

“And you?” His father rasped, eyes heavy on Merlin. It took him a second to process what the man meant, but his eyes widened impossibly when comprehension hit. He shook his head frantically, needing his father to understand. 

“No! No, father, I would never betray you! How can you- I love you! Please. Please, believe me.”

He hoped the words were good. He couldn’t hear. His ears were muffled again. Everything was black around the edges. He took a breath and the world grew a little brighter. His anger was still swirling around in him, but it was warring with uncertainty and fear. There was even a hint of love, in there. For his father. For the man he once had been. Could have been, had the world been different. 

“Swear it,” his father demanded, voice low and eyes hard. “Swear it on your mother’s grave that you will never betray me. That your servant is loyal only to you. Merlin, mighty Emrys. Vow your loyalty to me.”

Merlin nodded his head, heart tearing into pieces. 

“Yes. Yes, my king. My father. I swear on the grave of Hunith of Ealdor, late Queen of Camelot, that I will remain loyal to you, my father, my king, until my dying breath. And I vow that my servant, Arthur of Fayford, is not involved in this rebellion. He remains loyal only to me. No one else. This, I vow.” 

The air crackled with energy, the vow binding in that moment. Some vows meant more than words. They wove deep, deep into your very core. His magic had heard his vow, had melded with his father’s, and it had accepted his solemn oath. If he was lying or was proved wrong, his magic would make him suffer the consequences. No deeper pledge could have been made. He had bound himself to his father’s servitude. Part of him hated it. Felt sick doing it. But he had to save Arthur. Even if it cost him his soul. 

He knew he was being dramatic, but he didn’t care. Everything in him was pulled tight and taut. He was still so very tired, having been awakened so abruptly and totally. His fear and panic was making him sick. He was so lost. So confused. All he knew was that Arthur could not be hurt. Even if he was a traitor. Even if he truly despised Merlin with all his heart. He’d rather throw himself into the flames than watch the man he loved more than life die within then. He couldn’t. God, he couldn’t. 

Luckily, after several tense moments, his father nodded, barely noticeable but there. 

“Very well, Prince Merlin. You better pray your words are accurate. Or else you will face my wrath, blood within your veins be damned.”

With that, the king swept away, hands clutching the list of demands so tight he feared it would rip. 

He didn’t care. He gasped in heaving breaths, his vision going black again as he forgot to breathe. He felt like he was about to faint. 

On shaky legs, Merlin exited the war room. His father had given him orders to interview the servants again. Despite the fact he didn’t think it would yield anything, he did what was asked. 

The interviews took all day. He sent trusted, high ranking guards to search the quarters of those who lived in the lower town, while he split the interview job amongst him and his three most trusted Mages. 

Morgana was one of them. He felt bad. He knew she didn’t like the interviews. But she was one of the only people he trusted completely. He told her, in a whisper, that he was sorry but he didn’t know who else he could trust. She had given him a blank stare, before smiling sweetly and saying that she understood. He was too worried to feel anything but relief at her words, the unease not even registering. 

It was long passed nightfall by the time he had finished. He had interviewed every servant, no matter how young, carefully and fully. He had picked up the questions the Court members had come up with and drilled the servants with them, again and again until they cracked. 

But none of them were guilty. Truth serums didn’t work very well on non-magical people, but there were spells that made lying hard. He used them. None of the people he interviewed cracked. Not that way. Some burst into tears, namely the younger ones, but they didn’t show any signs of being part of the rebellion. 

By the time night came, his stomach was aching as he’d not eaten anything that day, too terrified and anxious to even think of eating. Even now, as he entered his room and saw the food Arthur had laid out, the man standing abruptly and making his way over to him, he had no appetite. In fact, he’d never felt sicker, as he looked at his servant, his dearest and most trusted friend, and felt a wave of doubt hit him. Merlin held up a hand, eyes dead and numb. 

He hadn’t bothered to interview Arthur, before. 

He’d do that now. 

“How do you know the Pendragons?” He intoned, eyes hard as Arthur stopped in his tracks, eyes wide. The man opened and closed his mouth, shaking his head. 

“I-I have no idea what you mean, Merlin, I-“

“Don’t lie to me!” He shouted, his magic pulsing around him. It didn’t destroy anything, just was pressure, but Arthur’s eyes widened. “I’m so sick of people lying! Answer me truthfully, Arthur of Fayford, son of Ygraine Du Bois. How do you know the Pendragon family?!”

Arthur’s eyes were wide and terrified, before they shuttered a second later, a complete mask. Merlin felt his stomach clench in pain. God. No. Please...

“I can’t answer that, my prince.”

It was like his entire life was crumbling. He could only stare at Arthur as he fell to his knees, unable to stand any longer. He hadn’t excepted that. He hadn’t… No…

Arthur snapped out of his emotionless state and rushed forward, concern in his eyes, but Merlin shook his head, even as his body began to shake violently. Arthur looked pained but he listened and stayed put. Merlin tried to process, but could only see Arthur’s expressionless face, blocked off from him. 

“W-was it all a lie? T-the care… t-the p-picnic? God. I let you… I let you into my _bed_. Why? I don’t… Arthur _please_ -“ 

He cut himself off as a sob filled his chest. God no. Why?

Because it was suddenly clear. Why Arthur had gotten so close when he once had been so distant. Why he had been so sweet to Merlin, so kind. Why he hadn’t seemed to hate him even despite everything Merlin and his family had done. How he knew the Pendragon family and why he had been so insistent that they were innocent, despite the obvious connection. Despite the obvious truth. 

He remembered Arthur’s anger, all those weeks ago. When he’d asked about he Pendragon family. He’d chalked it up to residual anger at the going ons of the world. But now… it was so obvious he wanted to kick himself. He’d willingly let himself be blind out of misplaced love. 

Arthur was the traitor. 

It made so much sense. Everything. But _God_ , did it hurt. It was like his stomach had emptied completely and his heart had collapsed. It was like he was dying. Worse, actually. He’d trusted Arthur so completely. So utterly. 

He had to be wrong. He couldn’t... but why? Why would Arthur protect the Pendragon family so much otherwise? Arthur told him everything. _Everything_. Why wouldn’t he tell him this? 

“Merlin, wh-What? No. No! It wasn’t a lie, why would you- it was never a lie! How can you believe-“

“I loved you,” Merlin interjected, heart empty. Arthur cut off his frantic words, eyes wide with shock, then filling with pain. “Was that your plan? All along? To m-make me- to, to force me… well it worked. I’m a damned fool, a bleeding heart. Because it worked. You- you… you got me.”

His voice was so thick it hurt. Arthur opened his mouth, tears and confusion filling his eyes, but Merlin shook his head hard. 

“I just… why? Why, Arthur? Why me? I know you hate my father. I get it. He… he’s hurt so many people. He took your _father_ from you. I understand why you hate him. But what did I do? I, I’m not him. I’ve never been him, no matter how hard I tried. And I don’t want to be, not anymore. I want to be a, a good man. A better man. So, I don’t understand. Please, Arthur. Tell me. If I meant anything to you at all, even a little. Please, give me that.”

Arthur stared at him, a tear rolling down his cheek, but the man didn’t even notice it. He just stared at Merlin, standing over him like the executioner. Staring at Merlin like he was a monster in a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. 

Something in the look niggled at Merlin. Begged him to look deeper. But he couldn’t. Everything hurt. He’d sworn to his father, gave his most solemn oath. He’d trusted Arthur so deeply. So fiercely. Maybe his father was right. He was a fool. 

A minute passed before Arthur started shaking his head, more tears falling. Merlin realized suddenly that his own face was soaked. He’d been crying steadily for minutes now. He hadn’t even noticed. 

“No. Merlin… _no_ ,” Arthur stressed, voice breaking on the second denial. He was shaking his head harder now, like he was trying to wake himself up. “What- whatever... whatever it is you are thinking. That y-you think I’ve done. I swear, I didn’t. I would- God. I would never betray you. I’d rather die first. You… I would never betray you. Never. Please believe me. Wh-why do you think-“

“The Pendragon family is involved. You swore to me. Arthur, you _vowed_. You said they weren’t involved. Gave me your word. But they are. They _are_. And now… now you won’t tell me how you know them. You lie to me. Hide from me. How can I trust you? I- I swore on my life to my father. On my mother’s grave. To protect _you_! How could you do this?! Why?!”

He was angry, now. So very angry. Angry, and bitter, and enraged. But mostly? Mostly... mostly, he was hurt. So very, very hurt. He tried to push the hurt away with anger, but the anger paled in comparison to the all-encompassing sorrow he felt. The horrible heartache. Gaius had been wrong. His emotions weren’t his boon. They’d be his downfall. 

Arthur looked like someone had punched him. Like his entire world had just collapsed and turned upside down. 

_Like the game was up and the chase was over_ , Merlin thought listlessly. 

Minutes passed after his words, both men staring at one another but not actually seeing. It felt, simultaneously, like hours had passed, and at the same time mere seconds. Time didn’t exist here. Nothing did. 

“No,” Arthur rasped, eyes wide and blinking. Tears fell from his face, not ceasing in their fall. He shook on his feet, knees buckling, but he did not fall. He shook his head, mouth turned down into a sour frown, wobbling as he tried to get words together. “N-n-no. That,” he gasped, “that can’t be true. The Pendragon family is dead. Th-they... they died. In the purge. Everyone… god. Everyone knows this. I…” 

Merlin could only stare at his servant (former servant, he supposed; the man would be killed at sunrise, like Adam had been slain that sunset while he worked. He’d be the one to put the man on the block himself, having promised his father he would. Despite everything, that thought brought on even more pain. He hadn’t realized that was possible) with confusion, though it was very distant. What did he mean? He had proof. He…

“T-they sent a letter. It was… was addressed. The Dragon. Beside it, there… there wa- was a picture of a dragon. Drawing. Gold ink on... on a red splotch. It’s their crest. I know it.”

Arthur could only stare, eyes wide with shock and fear. What… 

“Y-you would know! You’re the traitor! Y-you… you brought… the letter, you delivered it. Only someone in the castle could have. You have access to my keys. You were _in my room last night_. O-only I, I have access to my father’s rooms, outside of him. It had to be you. Who else?” 

Arthur shook his head, but it lacked power. He finally buckled and sunk to his knees, eyes dead as they stared at nothing. 

“No. I’m not. I-“

Arthur cut out as a sob filled the room, the man crumbling in on himself as he sobbed. Christ. Merlin had never seen Arthur cry before, let alone sob. It-

It snapped him out of it. No. This wasn’t a lie. Arthur was a proud man. Deadly proud. He wouldn’t let himself debase himself to this degree. Not for anything. No one was that good of a liar. He couldn’t be. 

Merlin shuffled forward, practically crawling, until he reached Arthur’s side. He didn’t dare hope. Couldn’t. The man didn’t even look up. Didn’t seem to realize he was there. He placed a soft hand on the man’s shoulder, staring intently at him when the man bolted up in response, pushing himself back onto his back, arms breaking his fall hard. It must have Burt but the man’s didn’t even flinch. Merlin kept his eyes steady, heart light as air. Like anything, even a whisper, could shatter it if it so chose. 

“Promise me. Swear to me. Vow. You weren’t the traitor. Y-you didn’t betray me. You’ll never betray me. Swear it, Arthur. Swear!”

Arthur heaved in a huge breath, body still wracked with horrible sobs. He nodded, up and down, so frantic. 

“Yes. Yes, Merlin. Prince, Prince Merlin. My prince. My... I swear I did not betray you. I will never betray you. Never. I was not the traitor. I had no idea the Pendragon family was involved or else I’d never have dissuaded you from investing them. I… he’s dead. Uther. I thought he was dead. He- I-“

Arthur cut off, another sob wracking his body. It made Merlin’s heart clench. Before he could do anything, Arthur shook his head, anger filling his eyes. But it wasn’t directed at him. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted this. You were my hope, Merlin. My hope for a better future. I’ve seen the kind of man you are. The kind of king you will be. And I trusted in you. I trust you, still. You will save this kingdom. This entire realm. I, I never lied to you, my prince. Never. You are the hope for Albion. My hope. You will fix everything. And I can only hope to be by your side, in your glorious shadow, as you do. This isn’t- fuck. This isn’t the way to do this. Death, and f-fear. I want freedom for my people more than anything. But not like this. Not at the cost of innocent lives. Never like this. I swear to you, Merlin. I swear what I say is true. On my mother’s life, on everything I have ever held dear and loved. On this, I swear.” 

Merlin gasped, heart aching, as a feeling of warmth filled him. It was everything. Warmth and light and _love_. 

_It’s Arthur,_ Merlin thought dimly, eyes staring at the man before him. He was feeling Arthur. How... why...

He didn’t know how he knew it. Why he knew it. But it was the truth. Arthur was telling the truth. He’d bet his life on in. 

In a moment that he would later look back on and wonder what the hell he had been thinking, Merlin darted forward and grabbed Arthur, eyes flashing, heart swirling. 

Arthur didn’t resist. Didn’t pull back. He just looked at Merlin, eyes impossibly sad. Heartbroken. Like-

Like he was resigned-

Like he knew he was about to die-

Like he’d accepted it. 

Merlin stared at Arthur for long moments that spread into eternities. Arthur stared back, a quiet acceptance in them. _It’s okay_ , they whispered, soft and sweet. _I don’t blame you_.

Well, he thought hysterically, eyes fixed tight on those baby blues. What else could he do? 

The first press of lips against his felt almost unreal. Fake. Like it couldn’t possibly be real. He’d been dreaming about this- fantasizing about it- for so long now that it felt fake and wrong and unreal. There were tears upon his face. A hole in his heart. And he didn’t know what he was doing. He wanted to stop. He wanted to break down. He wanted-

Arthur got over his shock and pressed back, lips warm and full against his, like a promise. _I did not betray you,_ they screamed, pressed hungrily to his, hand clutching his hair so tight it hurt. _I never could. I don’t know how._

_I love you._

Merlin pulled back first. He fell back, skittering away, eyes wide and heart pounding. Arthur started after him, eyes calm, though unbearably sad. 

“You’re not the only one,” Arthur whispered, eyes focused solely on him, “who fell in love.” 

It was too much. Too-

Merlin shook his head, lying back and staring at the ceiling. 

Christ. How had they come to this? Just that morning he had woken up in Arthur arms, more content than he’d ever been before. And now here he was. Crying his eyes out, lying on the floor of his room, having just kissed the man of his dreams. The love of his life. The man he’d been obsessed with for the better part of _two years_.

And all he felt inside was numb. 

“I won’t- god. Merlin, I won’t push it. I’ll never mention it again. But please don’t send me away. Don’t… I can’t, Merlin. I can’t. My destiny is by your side. I won’t leave you. I won’t.” 

It was too much. Merlin closed his eyes and shut everything down. His heart. His mind. His soul. Everything. 

“I don’t care. I don’t. Go. Leave. I don’t want you here. I never want to see you again. Go!”

Merlin gasped at the words, a sob released after his throat pushed the words out. God. What was he saying? 

“No. I won’t. You’ll have to kill me first.”

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he couldn’t see it wouldn’t hurt. 

“Please. I can’t. It’s too much. I want it to stop. Arthur, please. Make it stop.”

Pathetic. Childish. Begging, like the weak child he was. Why would Arthur love him? Have faith in him? He was nothing. He was nothing. He was nothing. He was-

“I, I’m afraid I can’t do that, Merlin. If I could, I swear I would. All I can do is stand beside you, through it all. I will not leave. I will never leave. I promised you that once, remember? Three weeks ago. I swore I’d never leave. I swear it again. You have my undying loyalty. I will be your servant forever. Long passed my death. This, I swear. This, I vow.”

No…

He gasped, another sob coming out. He heard shuffling near him, could feel a presence over him. He tensed, body tight and taut, waiting for the ax to fall. For his death. 

Instead, all he got was gentle hand grabbing him. Pulling him, softly, slowly, up. And then he was engulfed in warmth. Achingly familiar warmth. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing. Arthur, Arthur. He, he wants my father to meet him. To duel. He expects an answer by midnight tonight or he kills. He, he’ll kill them all. I can’t… Arthur, I can’t. I can’t save them. Father won’t listen to his demands. He wants father to give up the crown, to rescind his laws. He won’t do that. He can’t. B-but… Arthur...”

Arthur hushed him, holding him close and tight, arms warm and sure. Merlin quieted, holding tight to the man he loved more than life itself. The man he’d willingly die for. The man he’d let his entire kingdom perish for. 

What was wrong with him? 

“You’re sure this is Pendragon? Uther?”

Merlin shrugged, helpless. 

“I don’t know. The letter… it had the drawing of the dragon. And… I didn’t get to see it, but father said that the seal… it was the Pendragon crest. Their seal. It may not be Uther, I suppose. It could be his son.”

Arthur laughed at that, actually sounding amused, though very tired and slightly hysterical. 

“Oh, I swear to you, Merlin. It’s not his son. I know that much.”

Merlin was too tired and confused to wonder what Arthur meant by that. His head was aching with the strain of the tears he had shed. He just nodded, burrowing as close as he could to the man before him. Maybe then he could bury himself deep inside, never to return. Carve a place for himself in Arthur’s flesh. How macabre. 

“If it is… Pendragon. You said that he wanted a message, right? By midnight.”

Merlin nodded again, face completely hidden. Arthur hummed, fingers running through his hair. Merlin didn’t care. He needed… Christ. He didn’t know what he needed. For this to stop, for one. A new life, for another. 

“Then we send him the message. Can you get one there by midnight?”

Merlin pulled away, even though it broke everything in him to do so, and looked at Arthur with confusion thick in his eyes. 

“I mean… yeah. But father won’t meet him. He sent the army. They haven’t attacked yet, waiting for more information. They have an artifact, apparently, that blocks magic. Father… he wanted more information before attacking. I could send a message via magic bird, but it wouldn’t matter. Father won’t negotiate.”

Arthur looked at him, face grim. He looked like he was debating internally, fighting with something fiercely. A minute later, Arthur nodded, like he was confirming something within himself. Like he’d come to a conclusion. Not a happy one, Merlin noted blandly, eyes dull as they took in the mirthless smile and dead eyes of the man before him. 

“It won’t be your father who meets him, Merlin. It’ll be me.”

Well. That hadn’t been what he had expected. He reeled back, shock deep in his eyes. What? Why...

“I mean. No offense, Arthur. But why would Pendragon want to meet you? Unless…”

But no. They’d just gone over that Arthur wasn’t the traitor. Unless he lied? But why? And why would he reveal himself now? It made no sense. 

Arthur laughed, dark and mirthless. He stared Merlin straight in the eye, sorrow and heartbreak deep within them. He opened his mouth up, but looked away at the last second. Like he couldn’t bear to see Merlin’s face. Like he was afraid. 

Funny. Arthur had never been a coward before. For him to admit such fear…

“Because, my dearest Merlin. I am his son.”

Silence. Silence reigned. Minutes passed into hours passed into decades passed into eons passed into eternities. No matter how much time passed, he couldn’t comprehend the words. No…

Merlin shook his head, head underwater again. Everything sounded muffled and distorted. What-

“No. No, no. Your father… you said he was dead. You- Arthur...”

Arthur grinned sharply, eyes manic with pain. 

“I thought he was. Mother… she always said he went away. I assumed he had died. Why else would he never return? I know why now. I know-“

Arthur cut himself off, growling. He ran a harsh hand through his hair, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and stared Merlin deep in the eyes. So bold, his servant was. To look a prince in the eyes. It was treason. 

So was being a Pendragon. 

“My name, full name, is Arthur Pendragon. I am the last of the Noble house of Pendragon, stretching back centuries. My father was- _is_ \- Uther Pendragon. I am his son.”

Christ. His heart couldn’t take this. It was… god. Too much. He had thought it had hurt before, thinking Arthur was a traitor. This...

“You promise me, Arthur. Are you that much of a liar? What is the truth anymore? You swore you weren’t the traitor. You promised.”

He was tired. More tired than any twenty something man should be. It invaded his every pore. Every cell. It was inside his very heart. He was tired. So, so tired. 

Arthur shook his head, eyes bright and fierce. 

“I’m not a traitor, Merlin. Everything I said… everything I swore… it was the god’s honest truth. I have not, nor will I ever, betray you. You are Albion’s future. You are Albion’s only hope. Whatever may come… I will fight, gladly, by your side. He may be my father, but I hold no loyalty to him. Not anymore.”

Merlin laughed, bitter and harsh, the sound burning his throat. 

“Liar! Stop lying, pleas Arthur. Please. I know you. Y-you adore your father. Gwaine told me. I’ve seen it. You live your life according to his memory. You have his sword. His ring. I know where your loyalty lies. I’ve seen it.”

Arthur just smiled sadly, shaking his head. He then lifted his hands up and grabbed something. 

His necklace, Merlin realized dumbly. The one that held his ring. All that he wore around his neck now was the merlin charm. Prominent on his broad chest. Displayed. 

“Maybe I did, once. And maybe part of me will always love him. But I don’t know him. I’ve never known him. I do know you. I’ve watched you, Merlin. It’s been nearly two years. I’ve watched you grow from that arrogant prat I first met into the kindest, most sincere person I’ve ever known. You captivate me. I’ve never loved anyone more. I’ve never been so enraptured before. I don’t know if it’s magic. If this is just… I don’t know. But I can promise you with everything I have in me. My loyalty lies with you, and you alone. It will never waver. I give you this now, my father’s signet ring. I have worn it every day since my mother gave it to me, on my thirteenth birthday. I have not taken it off since. I give it to you now, Prince Merlin Emrys, last of your line. To signify my loyalty to you. I rescind my familial loyalty to Uther Pendragon. You are my family now. I will give my life for yours, if I must. I swear.”

Oh, God. Merlin stared numbly at the ring he now held within his hands, staring at it with unseeing eyes. If he’d ever doubted the man, they were all assuaged now. One did not rescind familial loyalty. It was the highest dishonor to do so, especially if one did not mean it. Arthur would never denounce his father if he wasn’t completely truthful. He’d rather die than lie about something like that. 

Nodding slowly, Merlin looked up and met cerulean blue. They were steady. Unwavering. 

Loyal. 

“I accept,” Merlin gasped, his mind pulling the memory of how to accept such a declaration of loyalty. Of… of _love_. His throat was impossibly dry, his stomach gnawing with hunger and nerves. But he had to do this. Arthur had given him everything. Time to return the favor. “I accept your loyalty. Your devotion. And in return, Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon, last of his line. I give myself to you. You have my undying loyalty, until the end of time. Where you go, I will follow. Your hardships will be mine to bear. Your sorrows will be my sorrows. I give myself to you in mind, body, and soul. Should I break my vow, should you have any cause to lose faith in me, I shall throw myself into the fire. You are my family. I swear.” 

It wasn’t like marriage, he thought numbly, staring at the ring. It went deeper than that. It was a bond. A vow. It woven deep into your heart, your soul, and it laid itself to rest. Marriages often had a similar vow, but it was not like this. Merlin’s magic was so powerful, so instinctive, that it took his words and it made them true. They were bound together now, for all eternity. Arthur likely wouldn’t feel it as strongly as he did, if he did at all, but Merlin could. It was there, in his heart. Warm. Steady. 

Devout. 

Arthur gasped as he held a hand up to his chest, looking at Merlin in wonder. Like he felt it too. Merlin hoped he did. It was so warm. 

“Okay,” Arthur gasped, looking up as tears began to fall again, heavy and hot. Merlin raised a shaking hand and wiped them away. Tender. His other hand clutched the ring with all his might. If he squeezed any tighter it would enter his veins and be part of him entirely. “I accept. I accept.”

Arthur surged forward, then, and sealed his word with a kiss. 

And this time?

It felt glorious. 

Merlin kissed back with everything he had in him, pressed so tight to Arthur it was hard to tell where he ended and Arthur began. It was so much. Too much. It was everything and nothing and god was it so much. He couldn’t get enough. 

The two kissed for long minutes, nothing else existing but the pair of men, hearts pounding, love flowing within them. The bond did not include emotion, not like soul bonds would, but he liked to imagine that he felt the love flowing within Arthur. How could he have ever doubted it? 

The two were forced apart as the bells chimed, signifying the turn of the hour. For a heart stopping moment, Merlin feared it was midnight and it was too late. He’d failed his people. But the chimes stopped at eleven. He had one hour left. 

Arthur looked at him, eyes turning hard and purposeful. He gave Merlin a sorrowful smile, before standing. He held out a hand and helped Merlin to his feet. Merlin swayed, dizzy from lack of food, but didn’t fall. 

“As much as I’d love to continue this, we have bigger worries. Send a message to my father. It must be him. I wanted to deny it, but I can’t any longer. Send him a message saying I will meet him tomorrow, when the sun reaches its zenith. Tell him his son wishes to talk.”

Merlin nodded dumbly, heading over the his desk. He pulled out a piece of paper and grabbed his inkwell. His mind blanked as he stared at the paper, but Arthur approached behind him and pressed his nose against the back of his neck. It was unbearably intimate. Merlin shuddered. 

Together, the pair was able to come up with a letter that worked to express the message they had determined would work best. With unseeing eyes, Merlin watched as the magical smoke bird he conjured grabbed the letter and flew it away. His father would kill him when he found out. He didn’t care. He hadn’t rescinded his familial loyalty, too many other vows preventing him from doing that, but he didn’t follow his father anymore. He couldn’t. Not after everything that had happened. Not after he had murdered so many innocent people. He couldn’t. 

Merlin watched the bird fly away, hoping it reached Willowsvale in time. Hoping the magic would be able to make it through whatever defenses the rebels had. He felt so achingly numb inside. 

And yet, even as his insides froze, he felt warmth within it. Simmering deep, deep down. Arthur came over and took his hand, gripping it tight. His magic sung at the pressure, gripping the hand tightly back. 

The following day would be a hard one. Likely the hardest to date. He’d thought that so many times before, and yet it kept getting harder and harder. He didn’t know how much more he could take. 

But, he felt, heart beating steadily as Arthur dragged him gently from the window, over to the food he had forgotten in his earlier heartbreak. As Arthur sat beside him and fed him the food tenderly, eyes full of love and devotion. As he stared right back, his heart, as busted and bruised as it was, soaring as much as it could on broken wings. He didn’t know what it was he felt for Arthur, could only call it love, even if the word paled in comparison to the utter devotion he felt. 

But as long as he had Arthur... he knew that he could handle it all. Every last thing. 

As long as Arthur was by his side. 

He could conquer the world. 

**END ACT 2**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> This is the end of the second act. Next act is the climax of the story. Have fun. :-D


	25. War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Another chapter, coming up! 
> 
> So much happens in this chapter, honestly. I don't want to spoil anything here, but if you are confused, I will have an explanation in the end note. Just know that I, too, was confused when writing it and did my best to make it all make sense. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments!!! They really do help me. I don't reply to them, since I have anxiety that makes me feel very awkward when replying to things, but do know it is very much appreciated. :-D 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing was right or true. Everything he had ever believed had been turned on its head and he had no idea what to think about it all. Or even feel about it. 

All he knew was that his father was alive. _Alive_. And he was leading this rebellion. 

To be fair, Arthur felt, listening to the soft breathing of Merlin (who he had vowed undying loyalty to, oh God), he didn’t know that for certain. But…

He felt it. Deep, in his core. It felt right. True. Of course, his father led the rebellion. Of course. Who else would it be? 

More than that, though, was that he had renounced all familial loyalty to the man. 

Now, don’t get him wrong. He wasn’t regretting his decision, per se. It was just… well. He had been kind of freaking out and panicked, and had only felt that if he lost Merlin, he’d lose everything. So, he’d done whatever he could to keep the man close. To make him trust him. 

It was strange, he felt. Not wearing the ring. He’d worn it for almost ten years, now. Since his thirteenth birthday, his mother gifting it to him with a watery smile. Saying his father would want him to have it. Present tense, he realized now. She never referred to him in the past tense. 

Had she known? What his father was doing. Obviously, she knew he was alive, but what of the rest? The rebellion… 

No. He couldn’t think of that. Even if she had known, how could he blame her for not telling him? His mother had always done what she felt was right. Had always done everything she could to protect him. He could never begrudge her anything. 

Anyway. He had renounced the man. Before he’d ever met him. Christ. And he didn’t regret it. Couldn’t. But… 

But he hadn’t wanted this. All his life, all of it. He’d longed to meet his father. To know the man his mother loved more than life itself. More than his infidelity, more than the hardships and struggles they faced. He wanted to know the man who had inspired such loyalty. Had wanted to see if the man would feel proud of him. 

What would his father think of him now? In love (so desperately in love) with the son of the man he despised? 

Ah. But that wasn’t a helpful thought either. 

Arthur sighed, looking down at the man in his arms. 

It had hurt, he admitted to himself privately. To see the look of betrayal on Merlin’s face. Especially when he had had no idea what it was that he had supposedly done. Part of him had worried that Merlin had found out about his heritage on his own, but the truth had been almost worse. That Merlin would suspect him of such a thing… 

What was even worse was that he didn’t blame the man. Had things been different… if he weren’t so sure of his feelings, now, having come to terms with them three weeks before… if he hadn’t accepted his destiny and knew that he was bound to the prince… perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps he would have sought out his father. 

But he could never do that now. He’d meant what he’d said; Merlin was the future of Albion. And him, though his part in the whole thing was still unclear. Yes, he was the Once and Future King. But how that came about, or when, was unknown. 

Maybe, he thought with a smirk, arms tightening slightly around the man he adored, his initial assessment that he’d, at first, denied out of hand would be true. 

Maybe he and Merlin could rule as dual kings. 

Ah. It was a nice thought. 

He hadn’t meant to tell Merlin he loved him. Honest, he hadn’t. In his defense, though, Merlin had started it. So…

Gah. His head was hurting. It kept going back and forth. Everything was too much. He had no idea what to think of, well. Anything. 

Merlin was currently asleep. He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew it was very late. Well past midnight. He’d managed to convince Merlin to sleep, saying nothing as he changed into the sleep clothes he now kept here (hidden, not that anyone but him and Merlin entered the room these days, but it was better safe than sorry) and getting into bed. He’d allowed no ambiguity in his actions. 

Merlin had fallen asleep rather quickly. The poor prince was dead tired, he knew. He would have followed him into the dark, but… well. His mind was racing. 

He was going to meet his father. After nearly twenty-three years of yearning and waiting. He…

And that was the problem. He was going to meet his father. But they were on the opposite sides of this rebellion. Arthur understood the rebels. He did. But he also knew that a war wasn’t the way to go about it. But how could he tell his father that Merlin was his destiny? That Merlin was their hope? Would his father even listen if he tried to say it? 

He wished he knew what to do. That he had someone to talk to, who knew what was going on and had definitive answers to help. Gaius was his first thought, but the man would be guessing as much as Arthur. He didn’t know anything for sure. 

In fact. There was only one person who might possibly know how to help him. 

Rather, one creature that was. 

His stomach roiled. He didn’t want to go down there. It had been months since he had last gone, the dragon refusing to tell him anything about the rebellion at the moment. 

“When you are ready, young Pendragon, then come to me. I will tell you only then.”

It had frustrated him at the time, Arthur yelling after the retreating dragon that how would he know when he was ready? Well. He knew now. 

He didn’t want to go. He disliked the dragon. There was something so off putting about him. An air of something artificial. Something false. He never said what he meant. It was always a riddle. 

And yet. If he wanted to know what to do, how to go about this… to know for sure if it was his father or not (and the damn dragon knew, Arthur was certain he knew), then he’d have to do it. 

It meant leaving the warmth of Merlin’s bed. If the man woke and saw he was gone... he’d doubt him again. And he’d just gotten his trust again. 

There was nothing for it, sadly. They were riding out at dawn, as they had stated in their letter, and should arrive mid-morning, as Willowsvale was a couple hours ride away on a horse. He’d have no other time to visit the overgrown lizard. 

It still felt unbearably hard to remove himself from the warm blankets. One thing he’d learned over the last three weeks was that Merlin’s bed was like a cloud. Groaning, softly so as to not wake the sleeping man, Arthur stood, listening as Merlin whined in discontentment, before settling and curling in on himself, forehead scrunched in upset. Arthur couldn’t help the instinct to reach out and smooth the wrinkle. Merlin soothed at his touch, sighing with contentment. 

God. He had to leave now or else he’d never go. 

He did make sure to write out a note, saying he was getting some things prepared for their ride in the morning. They had briefly discussed if he should bring his weapons and armor or not. Arthur had eventually won the argument and would be bringing the blades and chainmail he had brought from home. He’d also convinced Merlin to bring the ruby knife he’d been given for his birthday, a year-and-a-half prior. If magic didn’t work, he’d reasoned, one must use conventional means. Merlin had just shrugged, eyes dim, giving up way too easily. It concerned him, but he didn’t mention it. 

Letter written, Arthur set about creeping to his room to grab the key Gaius had given him all those years ago. Security was ramped up, Arthur medallion working hard to counter the detection spells placed on the castle, but he was able to make it to his room alright. He sneaked passed Gaius, who was sleeping restlessly on his meager bed. Arthur felt bad for the man, as he’d been busy all day as a Court member, but he didn’t have time to worry. 

Before he knew it, he was at the, unfortunately, familiar ancient door. Arthur used his key and entered the dark stairway. He grabbed the touch that laid on the ground and lit it on a nearby torch. Then he entered the inky blackness below. 

“You know, I was wondering if you’d forgotten me, Arthur. Though perhaps that would be the best for me. Your counterpart would not have been as easy to handle as you, I know that much.”

Arthur scowled, eyes hard on the giant beast before him. Even after all this time, he felt the familiar jolt of fear pass through him when he first laid eyes on the Great Dragon. He was used to ignoring it, by then. 

“I’ve come for help,” Arthur shouted, heart racing for some reason. He knew he needed to know. It still scared him. After all, part of him was hoping he was wrong. That his father wasn’t actually involved. That he wouldn’t have to face the man. It was a small part, but it was stubborn. 

“Oh, have you? Well, how unexpected,” the Dragon intoned. If dragons could roll their eyes, Arthur was sure the beast would have. “What is it you want to know, Pendragon?”

Arthur licked his lips. He had to ask. Had to. 

Knowing that didn’t make it easier. 

“I wanted to know who the leader of the rebellion is. How to defeat them.”

The words hung in the air for a minute before the Dragon began to laugh. Long and hard. Damn him. This is why he hated the beast. 

“Oh, Arthur. And here I was, thinking you weren’t an idiot, like your counterpart. Why ask obvious questions that you already know the answer to, after all? Hmm,” the Dragon mused, eyes amused. Arthur felt his heart stutter. Oh. God. “I cannot help you with that, little king. Though... there are other ways I can help you. Other than advice. If you so desire.”

Other ways? What did he mean?

Cautious, Arthur spoke. 

“How so? What else can you do to help me? Help Albion? You’re trapped here. What else can you possibly offer other than advice?”

He hadn’t meant to sound rude or cruel. Truly, he hadn’t. But the way Kilgharrah roared made him realize how callous the words sounded. Wincing, he waited for the Dragon to calm. 

“I can offer a great deal, young Pendragon,” Kilgharrah growled, some steam escaping from his nostrils. Eugh. He watched at the Dragon calmed down, shaking his head slightly. “But you are right. I am no good to you trapped down here. That is why I ask that you free me. You will need that counterpart of yours to do it. Only he will have the power to free me of my bonds. Free me, and you just may win your war. Refuse, and you will undoubtedly lose.”

Arthur felt his eyes widen, before narrowing. 

“Is that a threat?” He hissed, low. Honestly, he had expected something like this. Part of him understood. He figured being trapped in a small cave for twenty odd years when you were a giant flying lizard wasn’t the most comfortable. But he also hated to be threatened. And he trusted the Dragon about as far as he could throw him. There had just always seemed something off about the beast. Shifty. Like he wasn’t helping out of the goodness of his heart but because he had a hidden motive. Suppose he had found the motive. 

If dragons could shrug, he was sure the Dragon would have. As it was, he inclined his head a bit. 

“It’s not a threat, little king. It’s a promise. You will need me if you want any hope of reaching your destiny. You have some time to make your choice. But not long. Tarry too long and your choice will be made for you.” 

What? What did that mean? Arthur opened his mouth to asked but decided against it. It wasn’t important. Besides. Like hell would the Dragon give him a straight answer. He was sure the beast would shrivel and die if he gave a straight answer instead of the cryptic bullshit he was known for. 

“You know what? Fine. Let’s say I believe you. How, pray tell, am I going to get _Mer_ lin down here? I thought you told me I wasn’t supposed to tell him about our shared destiny?”

The Dragon hummed, doing his strange approximation of a shrug once more. 

“I believe I said he wasn’t to learn of his destiny too soon. Back when he was completely under the thumb of his father, he’d never have dreamt of going against him. Now, however, it is not his father who receives his undying loyalty, but you, little king. It may still be too soon, but he would not reject his part in destiny out of hand. Not now that you two share an undying bond.”

At Arthur’s bewildered look (undying bond? Hadn’t they already shared one of those?) the Dragon laughed, long and hard. Bastard. Maybe he wouldn’t even bother freeing the thing. Let Albion perish, if only to free him of the beast. 

“You didn’t even realize, did you? Magic is power, Arthur. You do not make a vow to a magic user if you do not want their magic to bind you to your word. I can see his magic inside you, stronger now than ever before. You two are bound more than just by Fate now. His magic has created a bond of loyalty and trust between you. Possibly even love, if such a thing truly exists. You are as bound to one another as I am to a Dragonlord, regretfully. More so, in fact. When one requests a favor, the other will feel compelled to fulfill it. Not because you have no will of your own, but because it would give you the greatest pleasure to please the other. You can still deny it, but to do so would be like denying a part of yourselves. Have you never wondered why the little prince would sometimes follow your orders without thought? Or why you would follow his? It was your bond at work. Now, since his magic has accepted and strengthened the bond, you will be more attuned to one another’s needs and will feel more pressure to fulfill the other’s desires. And you will feel more relief, perhaps even pleasure, when you are able to.”

Okay. Hang on here. Arthur closed his mouth, which had fallen open unbidden, before opening it again, then closing it. Hold up. Was he stupid or something? Because he had always assumed the bond was more… ceremonial. Oh, yes, he felt it! But he hadn’t realized it actually could, you know. Change him. Make him do things against his will. And yes, he followed Merlin’s orders, but that was because Merlin was his master! He was _supposed_ to follow orders. When had Merlin done what he said, at all, whatsoever?

Well… huh. Wait a second. A memory popped up in Arthur’s mind. It was so old now he’d nearly forgotten it entirely. It had happened so fast and so long ago it had just… never seemed important. 

When Merlin had been fighting that bastard, Valiant. He’d been two seconds away from being stabbed to death. Then Arthur had shouted, loud and clear, “MERLIN! STEP BACK!” He had no idea why he’d said it, just felt like he had to. But then, to his utter shock, Merlin _listened_ and was able to step back enough to not get stabbed to death. Huh… 

Part of him had always figured that it had been a result of their bond. That he’d magically been able to figure out how to save his counterpart and Merlin had happened to be responsive. But he supposed he never gave much thought as to _why_ or _how_. More questions rose in him, and while he didn’t want the creature to laugh at him, he figured Kilgharrah was his best bet at getting them answered. 

“Wait,” he finally managed to get out, holding up a hand. The Dragon just blinked at him. He’d probably raise an eyebrow if he could. Bastard. “So, does this mean… are Merlin and I... like, _married_ now?”

Arthur was about to go on and ask about free will but was interrupted when Kilgharrah began to laugh hard. Fucker. 

“Oi! Stop laughing, I have another question, you lizardy bastard!” He bellowed. Luckily, the beast listened, though he was still far too amused for his liking. He was running out of poignant insults for the creature. Damn. “You mentioned free will. Do we still have it if we feel compelled to follow the other’s orders? Or are we slaves to this, this _bond_ we’ve created? How does it work?”

The Dragon inclined his head again, a puff of smoke exhaled from his somehow animate lips. It seemed like it should be impossible for a lizard creature to talk and move its lips. He supposed it was magic that did it. Otherwise… well. Best not to wonder. Dragon anatomy was too much for him, thanks. 

“Your bond goes deeper than that of the union you humans call marriage. There are more kinds of loyalty than just the kind between spouses, Arthur. More kinds of love, too. You humans are too limited in your scope for loyalty and love, in my eyes. Those who bind through law may also bind their magic together, if they have such, but it only is as powerful and as deep as the magic they wield. The more magic, the deeper the bond. Similarly, the more they are loyal to one another, the more the magic will have liberty to bind. Merlin is the most powerful warlock of all time. And while you are not able to wield magic, you were born of it, your birth foretold for millennia, making yourself sensitive to magic’s power. And I don’t think anyone could deny the undying loyalty you both share for the other.

“When you made your vows, whatever they were, you bound yourselves together, and with the breadth of your loyalty combined with the depth of Merlin’s power and your destiny, the bond you share will be deeper than any other in existence. There is nothing to compare it to, as it is uniquely its own. It does not mean you are bound in love if you do not desire it to. But it could be if you desire to bring love into it.” 

Okay. Wait up. Hold on. What? 

Arthur stared at the Dragon in bewilderment. How? What? Huh? Who? Why? _What_? 

Kilgharrah laughed again, before shaking his head. 

“Perhaps you should ask the little prince for more information. I have nothing else to tell you in that regard. You are bound, forever now. To unbind yourself would be like tearing off a limb. Or ripping out your heart. Before it would have been like cutting off a finger; annoying, yes, and very painful, but easily done and, while it would be missed, it wouldn’t be vitally important. Now, to deny it would cost far greater. It was your choice, however. Magic cannot bind that which is unwilling.

“Now, to answer your question about free will, it is still your own. You can wield it as you like. But you are no longer alone in your decisions. Merlin is there, for you to consider. Your will is not just your own now. You cannot make individual decisions any longer; rather, you must decide together, united, if you wish to make strong choices. Neither one without the other. Stronger united than alone. Two sides of the same coin.” 

Okay. What? He no longer had his own will, is that what he was hearing? He hadn’t agreed to that! All his life, he had taken pride in his freedom. His power to choose. He never wanted to give that away! Not even for _Mer_ lin.

“I never agreed to that!” He shouted, like if he yelled loud enough, he could make the gods hear his anger and rescind their decision. Kilgharrah snorted, smirking, as he shook his head.

“I think you’ll find that you did, Arthur. As I said, magic cannot bind that which is unwilling. Yes, your bond could be abused later on. The bond I shared with Balinor was irreparably damaged at his betrayal, though I cannot remove it any more than you can remove yours, though its power has waned. That is why it is imperative to know who you are binding yourself to before creating a bond. You and Merlin, however, were always made for each other. You were created to work in tandem, to be stronger together. This bond does not weaken you or take anything away. It just strengthens that which was already there from your birth. You humans take such pride in your individuality. I have no idea why. We dragons are united together and that makes us stronger. To live alone, cut off from your kin, from others who share your loyalty and your bond… well. You cannot imagine the great pain that inspires.”

Hm. Arthur had a feeling the Dragon was not talking about some hypothetical event. He wasn’t the best with emotions, but even he could see the deep pain in the beast’s eyes at the words. The unending loneliness. He could almost feel it, inside himself. The thought of being apart from Merlin… he shuddered. No, he couldn’t imagine how deep that pain would lie. He didn’t want to. 

Alright. Fine. Part of him was still angry, was still afraid of what he had unknowingly signed up for. But then… had it been unknowing? After all, he had done his acts on something deep within him. Something that had pulled him forward, urging him to vow his loyalty to Merlin. That brought up another issue. If he was being pulled from inside him, without him consciously knowing it, was he truly in charge? Or was he a slave to his bond? To Merlin?

And did it matter if he was? Like Kilgharrah said. His bond made him stronger. He and Merlin had been born for one another. Was it truly just him that he had to worry about, or was Merlin there too? Had Merlin always been there? He’d known he and Merlin were two sides of the same coin for ages now. He’d just never truly appreciated what that meant. Maybe their two souls were connected. Or maybe they were one soul, split between two bodies. Who honestly knew? Did it matter? Did it change anything?

He couldn’t just think of himself now. Merlin was there, inside him. Depending on him. Part of him was afraid that this bond would be abused. That he’d lost all sense of self and individuality. But… no. He trusted Merlin. Merlin wouldn’t abuse this bond between them. And he wouldn’t dare abuse the bond either. He’d never force Merlin to do anything he didn’t want to do. He’d use it to keep Merlin safe and healthy, and that was it. Like he done with Valiant, or the numerous times he’d told Merlin to sleep and the prince had followed without thought. Harmless things that did more good than bad. He’d have to talk to Merlin about it, eventually. Come up with terms and draw up things that they could or couldn’t force the other to do. It would be a mutual union. Not one sided. 

Gah. But that would have to wait. They had bigger fish to fry at the moment. When this was all over. When they had won (and they had to win. It was his destiny. He’d make it happen), they could go over their terms. Make their union complete. For now, he’d push it aside. Be careful to not force Merlin into anything he didn’t want. He had a feeling Merlin knew about how bonds worked, as it would make no sense for such a powerful man to not know how he might accidentally bind himself to another. He trusted Merlin wouldn’t abuse the power. 

Alright. So, what had he learned so far? His father was the leader of the rebellion (and that had been hard to hear, even though he had been forced to push it aside for the rest of it. But it wasn’t important. He’d already known, after all). He and Merlin were bound. It was deeper than marriage, though didn’t need to have love if they didn’t want it (but who was he kidding, he desperately wanted it). And Kilgharrah wanted him to ask Merlin to free him, if they wanted any chance of winning the upcoming war. Oh, yeah. And there was, indeed, an upcoming war. 

Part of him didn’t want the last point to be true. He was hoping, maybe naively, that talking to his father would fix everything. That his father would listen to him. But… who was he kidding? If he were in his father’s shoes, he’d never back down. If his father was even half as stubborn and prideful as he, himself, was? He’d never back down. 

So, it was war. He’d still try and persuade his father. Maybe it wouldn’t work now, but perhaps it could plant the seeds of doubt in his father’s mind. A good strategist always planned several moves ahead, after all. He’d need to find a way to try and convince his father that Merlin was their one chance, not rebellion. Also, that he was not being enchanted (as the man would likely think that, since he’d think that if he were in his shoes). It was a lot. Especially in the few hours before meeting his father. 

He had no time to waste, then. He nodded tensely to the Dragon and turned to leave. He’d say goodbye but seeing as how the Dragon often left without a single word, he felt justified in his rudeness. 

Of course, Kilgharrah wouldn’t let him leave dramatically. Only the beast could do that, he supposed. 

“Arthur! One last thing. Be careful with whom you place your trust. There is a traitor in your midst, and they plot your downfall even as we speak. Take care with your loyalties to those besides Merlin. Trust is a fragile and fickle thing. You’ll find it often is misplaced.”

With that, the Dragon flew off, leaving Arthur to spin around and stare after him in shock. 

“Oh, fuck off! You can’t just say things like that and then leave! You bastard!” 

It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn he heard laughter echoing in the vast cave. Oh yeah. Definitely a bastard. 

It took him half an hour to return his key to his room and make his way back up to Merlin’s rooms. His head was spinning and his heart racing. He’d almost been caught a couple times, too distracted to pay full attention to his surroundings. Luckily, he made it back without rising alarm, despite the worry he felt. After all, who was the traitor? 

He had no idea. Kilgharrah said it was someone he currently trusted, but those people were few and far between. He didn’t trust easily, nor readily. Not fully. Even among his friends, there were only a couple he had the utmost trust in. Gwaine was one, despite everything. Gwen another. He supposed he trusted Lancelot, despite his annoyance at the man. He was a noble sort and didn’t seem the kind to betray anyone. Leon, maybe Percy. The rest were iffy, though he trusted them enough. 

He trusted his mother, and he didn’t even think about the possibility of her betraying him. He didn’t know for certain, but he believed that she’d follow him over his father. They’d shared so much in the past that he couldn’t imagine her betraying him, not even for her former husband. He hoped. 

Then there were the people in his immediate circle. The ones he interacted with daily. 

Gaius, of course. But he’d never betray him, or Merlin. He was positive of that. Gaius didn’t have a deceptive bone in his body. If Gaius were deceiving them, then let them fall. If even someone like Gaius couldn’t believe in their future, their future deserved to die. It’s possible the man would betray them against his will, but even that he doubted. Gaius was powerful enough to fight magic controlling him, and he’d find a way to secretly inform him if he were being blackmailed. He was sure of it. 

That left Freya and his sister, he supposed. But while Morgana and he had never been the closest, more rivals than anything, they shared a deep love. He trusted her with everything he had in him. And Freya was kind and sweet. She adored Merlin. She wouldn’t betray them, would she? 

He didn’t know. He’d never spent enough time around the Lady to know her true nature. Of all of them, she was the one he trusted least. He’d keep an eye on her, then, he supposed. 

Other than that, he didn’t trust anyone, really. His friends weren’t really in the position to betray him in such a way. He’d not been close to them since he’d left home those years ago. They could be working with the rebels, but he wouldn’t blame them. It wouldn’t be that big of a betrayal. 

So, as he entered Merlin’s rooms and padded silently over to the bed, removing the jacket he’d placed over his night clothes, he wasn’t sure what to make of the Dragon’s parting warning. Who was currently working against them? Merlin had mentioned a traitor, in the castle, fearing it was him. Was that the same person that Kilgharrah warned against? Hm. 

He didn’t have any time to worry any longer, as he noticed dark blue eyes peering at him from over the top of the covers, the rest of his face hidden. His heart began to pound, afraid that Merlin would doubt him, lose trust in him. 

“Merlin! It’s not, I wasn’t, this isn’t-“ he started, voice panicked. He heard a snort of laughter come from the covers, the rest of Merlin’s face popping out a second later. His hair was all mused and his eyes were bleary from sleep. He hadn’t been awake too long. That was good. 

“It’s fine, Arthur. I read your letter. I trust you.”

The prince held out the piece of paper, Arthur taking it absently. Oh, good. 

“Were you able to do what you needed?” The prince mumbled, settling back down, and closing his eyes. He looked adorable like that, all scruffy and cute. Smiling despite himself, Arthur entered the bed, heart singing when Merlin immediately moved into his arms. He’d been afraid this would have been awkward, after their earlier misunderstanding. But no. It was just as perfect as always. Better, in fact since the bond he now couldn’t ignore was warm in his chest. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips softly to Merlin’s, just because he could. Merlin moaned softly in return, kissing sweetly back. Mmm. This was good. Nice. Easy. They still had no name for what it was they were to each other, made infinitely more complicated due to the bond they’d unknowingly (or knowingly, who knew) deepened, but it was nice. Good. It didn’t need a name. What good did a label do for them? It would complicate things. He was fine with this unspoken thing between them. He trusted Merlin enough to not fear that the prince would take advantage of him or hurt him on purpose. And he knew himself enough to know he’d rather die before hurting Merlin. So, it was fine. As long as Merlin was okay with leaving this unspoken, so was he. 

It was so nice to kiss him, though. Soft and sweet, like nothing he’d ever felt before. He’d kissed girls before, Gwen a handful of times, but this was so different. It made his heart sing. 

Eventually the kiss broke, Merlin yawning adorably. His nose scrunched up and his eyes closed, blinking back open a few times when the yawn finished. Laughing softly, Arthur kissed the man’s nose gently, laughing again at the indignation on the man’s face. The look faded into tender adoration, making his heart stutter. Merlin shuffled closer and laid his head over Arthur’s heart. So intimate it made him want to cry. But he wouldn’t. Because he was an adult, thanks. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Merlin’s sleepy voice mentioned, a moment later. What question? Arthur had honestly forgotten in the euphoria of kissing Merlin so sweetly. Something about... oh. Right. 

“Yeah, I did. I mean, I was able to do what I needed. Didn’t get the answers I expected, but I learned all I needed to know. I’ll tell you in the morning, though. We have a busy day ahead of us and we both need to sleep. So sleep, my love. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Merlin hummed, burrowing deeper. Arthur smiles and closed his eyes. He knew he should sleep, but he’d never felt less tired. His mind was racing through thoughts, trying to work out how to convince his father ( _his father_!) how to give up the rebellion he’d been planning for over twenty years. Before he could settle in for a sleepless night, he heard Merlin speak, voice impossibly sleepy but still strong. 

“Okay, Arthur. But you should sleep, too. You need rest. Sleep, it’s okay.”

And then, like magic, Arthur felt his eyes begin to droop, his racing mind calming as Merlin’s words soothed him. Huh. Neat. He wasn’t sure if he should be offended that his mind gave up the chase so easily, but he supposed it was for the best. He’d have never gotten to sleep otherwise. It was interesting to realize how Merlin’s words had effect on him. He’d taken it for granted before, but he realized it was the bond, now. 

Still. It was nice, being able to close his eyes and not have to worry about everything. Trusting in Merlin, utterly and completely. His heart full to burst as he heard the soft snores fill the air, Merlin falling back to sleep quickly. Arthur pressed a tender kiss to the top of Merlin’s head, settling into bed, sleep overcoming them. 

The next day would be challenging. For all of them. 

He hoped he had what it took. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~ 

Arthur couldn’t help the way his heart sped up as he and Merlin approached the town of Willowsvale. There were army encampments all around, a general and some other high-ranking officers approaching them with hesitation and confusion. 

“My prince! What are you doing here? We received no notice from your father that you were coming. We’re currently preparing for battle.”

He had asked Merlin if they should send a notice to the army before they arrived, to ensure they didn’t attack before they had a chance to speak to the rebels, but Merlin had shaken his head. He didn’t want news getting back to his father about their plan before it began. Worst case scenario, he’d exercise his right as crown prince to cease any battles that took place. And if the leader were indeed Arthur’s father, he hoped the man would cease fighting on his side long enough to talk with them. 

Luckily, no battle had broken out. It had taken them an hour and a half to arrive at Willowsvale, leaving just before dawn, their horses running at a steady gallop interspersed with some fast-paced trots. They had made good time, the sun not even high in the sky as they pulled to a stop after the encampment. 

Merlin dismounted his horse, Arthur following suit a moment later. He’d briefly considered asking Merlin to stay behind, to protect him, but he knew the prince would never be able to let Arthur go while he stayed safe. Arthur understood. He felt much the same. 

“There’s been a change of plan. My father has sent me to speak with the leader of the rebellion. We want to find out more information before we attack. See if I can figure out what artifact they are using. Here, a letter from him,” Merlin stated, holding out the official looking letter he’d forged earlier. His magic was so powerful that he’d been able to duplicate an old official letter his father had sent him, the seal and signature identical, while exchanging the words written to fit their needs. Arthur was beyond impressed. He’d been unable to tell the difference when Merlin had held them up that morning, grin wide and pleased. 

Neither could the general, it seemed, as the man nodded his head, frowning, but seeming to accept the prince’s words. After all, why would he suspect the prince of lying? 

“Very well, your royal highness. Give me a few minutes to round up a few men to act as guard.”

Merlin shook his head, a touch frantic. Arthur hoped the general didn’t notice. 

“No, that won’t be necessary. We don’t know what forces they have at their disposal. My father has a deal that only me and my servant can enter the town. Arthur has a blade concealed on him, which he has been given permission to use should we be attacked. It is not ideal, but if magic is indeed useless, then we may have to concede to using conventional means.”

Arthur was surprised. Merlin’s argument actually sounded logical. Of course, the king would never be willing to bend his own laws for anything, but it was a logical argument to make. Desperate times, and all. 

The general didn’t seem entirely convinced, staring at Arthur through squinted eyes. Arthur stared calmly back, eyes on the man’s chin, knowing a servant couldn’t look a high ranking official in the eye. Arthur had seen this general around the castle, having delivered a few potions to him. He seemed a good enough sort, though dismissive of servants and non-magical people. Finally, though, the man nodded his consent. 

“Alright. Very well. Be careful, my prince. We have the town contained, but we have no idea what they have up their sleeves. We noticed that they hadn’t attacked at midnight, but I assume that must be because of your deal. We will keep careful watch outside the town. Send up a spark of magic if you need assistance.”

Merlin nodded, tightly. He grabbed the reigns of his horse and led her to the makeshift stables, informing the stable hand to watch over her with his life. The boy, maybe eighteen, had nodded frantically with wide eyes. Arthur brought his horse over and nodded solemnly. Then the pair approached the entrance of the town, hearts pounding. 

Every step felt like a mile, Arthur mused, shaking slightly. He’d tried to come up with a plan, words to tell his father when they arrived. But everything was drifting from his mind like smoke as he grew closer and closer to his destination. Merlin was stiff beside him, eyes darting around to pick up any hint of a trap. 

They finally reached the town entrance, nothing stopping their approach. The town seemed simple enough; larger than Fayford, but much smaller than Camelot. Likely a couple thousand people lived here, with more who traveled through every day. It was a major town on the way to Camelot, right beside a river. It was, honestly, the best town that the rebels could have taken over. It was central, powerful, and mostly magical. 

They saw no one as they entered the town, though. It was like it was a ghost town. Like everyone had abruptly up and left. It was eerie, he noted, shuddering with unease. Like Fayford had felt, after all the villagers had been evacuated and only he and his friends remained, planting bombs to fight off the enemy sorcerers. 

Arthur could feel Merlin’s magic swirling around him, the energy pulsing as it tried to feel for any danger. Clearly, whatever artifact they had either wasn’t currently being used, or it didn’t stop magic from occurring. It just prevented it from affecting them, he supposed, if the artifact was real at all and wasn’t just a bluff. He felt it would be a pretty easy bluff to call, though. 

It wasn’t until they reached the town square that they saw anyone. For one heart stopping moment, Arthur thought it was his father. That faded when he realized it was a young man before them, no older than they were. 

“State your business,” the man barked, clad in full armor, a sword at his side. It hadn’t been unsheathed, but Arthur could see the man’s hand itching to grab it. Arthur felt similarly, his hand itching to grab his sword from his side. He currently was wearing the chainmail he’d brought from home, all those years ago. Around his neck hung both his medallion and his father’s signet ring. 

He’d honestly been very confused when Merlin had handed the thing to him that morning, informing him to put it on. Merlin had explained, quietly, that it would likely put more weight on his claim of family, if his father saw him wearing his signet ring. Arthur had been impressed. He honestly hadn’t thought of that. Should have. A good strategist would have. Thank god he had Merlin. Maybe together, their individual stupidity would cancel out, turning them into an unstoppable force. If only. 

The man before them, who looked so much like a knight of old that Arthur almost did a double take, stood there, waiting their response. Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur beat him to it, stepping forward and holding his head high. 

“My name is Arthur Pendragon. I have come to talk with your leader, Uther Pendragon. We have business to discuss.”

For one, heart stopping second, Arthur was afraid he’d miscalculated. That he had been wrong; that his father wasn’t the leader of the rebels after all. But the moment passed when the knight, stoic and steady, nodded once and turned. He said no words, but, after Arthur shared a glance with Merlin, the pair followed. 

They were led through the town, to a clearing. It was there that they finally found signs of life. All around were barracks and blockades. It seemed the rebels were preparing for battle. A few shuffled around, building defensive structures, women interspersed with the men. Interesting. He’d known women were involved with the rebellion but hadn’t expected to see them here. Perhaps they would act as nurses? 

All it all, it was fairly impressive, if also terrifying. It reminded him of the battles his uncles had told him about, ages ago. It made his heart sink, his breath catching. It all seemed so real, now. They were gearing up for war. If he couldn’t convince his father here (and he highly doubted he’d be able to), then the army would attack, and war would officially be waged. It was impossible to tell how many people his father had, but there were dozens milling around. If his father were as brilliant of a knight and strategist as he’d always heard he was, he wouldn’t have started a war he did not think he had a chance of winning. He’d had twenty-three years to plan this. It would likely end bloody, on all sides. 

They approached a tent that sat in the middle of a wide street, a red tent with gold accents. Arthur gasped, seeing the golden dragon that stood proud on the side of the fabric. He knew, then, who resided in that tent. The man was shouting his identity loud and clear. 

The knight before them entered the tent, beckoning them forward with a tilt of his head. Arthur, however, was frozen. Petrified. He’d known, logically, that he was heading to meet his father. But reality felt so much more, well… _real,_ than his logical thoughts. All he could think was how, finally, after almost twenty-three years, he was about to meet his father. Something he’d longed to do since he’d been old enough to comprehend his father’s absence in his life. And they were on opposites sides of a war. Fate was a cruel mistress, it seemed. 

“Hey,” Merlin muttered, the back of his hand brushing Arthur’s. Arthur started, turning wide eyes on Merlin. Large displays of affection wouldn’t help them here, but Merlin smiled softly, eyes encouraging. “It’s okay. I’m here. We’re in this together. I promise.”

Strangely… the words calmed him. Let him know that he wasn’t alone. That, while he may already have burned bridges with his father, before even meeting the man, he didn’t have nothing. Smiling tightly back, Arthur nodded. 

And with that, he strode forward, head held high, facing his future head on. 

The first thing he noticed when he entered the tent was the large table in the center, housing a map of the kingdom. There were some red pins in the board, though he had no idea what they represented. He didn’t have time to study them, to figure out their meaning, when he heard an inhale of breath, sharp and shocked. His eyes jolted up, his heart stopped as his eyes met green eyes, set in an aged face. And he gasped as well. 

The pair didn’t move for long moments, staring at one another intently. Arthur felt his eyes rove over the lined face, taking in the wrinkles that told of his advancing years. There was a thin scar over his right eye, which Arthur knew the man had gotten in a duel when he’d been about his age. The man’s eyes weren’t fully green, either, the left one mostly brown. He’d never seen eyes like that before. It told the uniqueness that the man before him held. He was wearing chainmail and some armor; not as full as the knight from earlier, who exited when the man held up a hand. Everyone in the room left, actually. He hadn’t even noticed anyone. He’d had eyes only for the man before him, the blood red cape billowing over his shoulders. 

It was his father, he thought numbly, eyes impossibly wide. They watered, but he didn’t dare blink. He couldn’t bear the thought that this was just a dream. 

“Arthur,” the older man breathed, sounding like he couldn’t quite believe his words. The man rounded the table and approached Arthur slowly, each step measured and calculated. Arthur didn’t look away as he stared at the approaching man. 

Finally, the man stood before him. The man was a little taller than him, Arthur noted absently, looking up only a little to meet the strange eyes. The man paused when they were within arms distance, eyes just roving his face. From this distance, Arthur could see the similarities between them. They had the same proud chin, their nose and cheek shape the same. The man’s hair was paler, a dusty brown, but he could imagine that it might have been lighter when he’d been younger. Like his own. Arthur had taken after his mother in looks, but he’d also, apparently, taken after his father as well. A blend of the two. 

God. 

Before he could think or react, he felt strong arms pull at him. He had a second to panic that his father was attacking, but then he felt arms close around his shoulders tightly. It was… oh. A hug. 

Arthur lifted his arms absently and held the older man back. His heart was pounding, like this was unreal, but eventually he relaxed. He knew why he was here; couldn’t forget. But he allowed himself a moment. One moment. To hold his father and let himself feel the love he’d had all those years within him. 

He could feel tears fill his eyes, but he fought them down. He didn’t want to look weak in front of his father. Couldn’t. But when his father pulled back, Arthur was shocked to see tears streaming down the lined face, lifting a hand up to touch Arthur’s face, almost like in a trance. 

“You look so much like your mother,” the man breathed, his voice breaking at the end. Tears filled his eyes at that, Arthur gasping to keep them down. He blinked his eyes, blue like his mother’s, and smiled brokenly. 

“Hello, father,” he whispered. The other man had a look of such cautious joy on his face, like he couldn’t believe his luck. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. 

“Have you come to join me? With you by my side, we will be unstoppable. We will regain our kingdom if we join forces,” his father breathed, smiling truly now. Like he’d accepted reality and found it to his liking. 

But the words had jolted Arthur. Right. He was here for a reason. He hadn’t forgotten, how could he? But he couldn’t ignore it now. And though it pained him, the child in him longing to nod and never leave his father’s side ever again, he knew he had to do this. He owed it to Merlin. 

And so, though it ripped his heart out, Arthur shook his head sadly, stepping back. Standing beside Merlin, who had been silent during the reunion between father and son. Arthur could feel Merlin’s eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look away from his father, who suddenly looked so confused, smile still on his face, even as his eyes narrowed with confusion. 

“No. I- no. I’m not here to join you. In fact...” he paused, taking a breath. He longed to look at Merlin but felt that doing so would break the fragile tension in the room. “I’m here to ask you to step down. End this rebellion. It will only lead to death and further pain. Please-“

He wasn’t able to say anything else as his father, smile fading as Arthur’s words sunk in, abruptly took out the sword at his side, pointing it at Merlin. Arthur, reflexes fast from his nightly practice, pushed Merlin back and took out his own sword, eyes shuttered as he stared at his father. The joy he had felt moments before faded as reality crept in. They weren’t allies. They were enemies. He’d do well to remember that. 

“Whatever he has against you, Arthur, you don’t have to worry. We have the ability to break enchantments. His hold over you will not last.”

Right. He’d expected his father to think him enchanted. His friends had, after all, at first. It was annoying. He wasn’t enchanted. Well. Not by magic, at least. Arthur shook his head, arm unwavering as he held his sword out, Merlin warm against his back. 

“It’s not like that, father,” he started, stuttering over the last word. His father’s eyes got darker. “He’s not enchanting me. He’s not our enemy. He’s not like his father. Prince Merlin is our hope for a better future. This rebellion will only bring needless death. We don’t have to lose so many people. We can unite Albion without any bloodshed. He’s the key to that. Father-“

He was cut off again as his father laughed, the sound harsh and angry. Rage filled the heterochromatic eyes, though it wasn’t directed at him. It was at the face that was peeking out over his shoulder, hatred so palpable that he could almost feel it. He pushed Merlin down, so he wasn’t able to be seen at all. Merlin let out a noise of complaint, but Arthur didn’t care. His jaw was set as he looked at his enraged father. 

“Evil sorcerer, you have enchanted my only son. My flesh and blood. You will pay for the sins you have committed here. You and your foul kind. I will kill your father and take his throne. Then I will punish you and your kind the way you have punished mine. I swear to you that I will eradicate the evil that is magic if it is the last thing I do. You will pay for your crimes.”

Arthur let out a noise of rage, though his father ignored him, eyes steady on his shoulder, where Merlin was still trying to peek out from. 

“I am not enchanted!” He yelled. He wanted to be more controlled, but his fear and anger got the better of him. God, it was worse than he’d feared. His father wanted revenge against magical people, not peace. That made him realize, more than anything else, that he was on the right side of things. Not his father’s. Not the king’s. But Merlin’s. The only person who truly wanted peace. “Revenge is not the way to go about this! We need peace, lasting peace! If you take over and kill magical people, you become just as bad as Balinor and his crimes against us! We need peace, not death!”

His father laughed again, shaking his head angrily, enraged eyes on him. 

“You must be enchanted, for no son of mine would be so weak and foolish. You think that prince of yours would show you mercy? Look what his father has done! He condemned innocent men, women, and children to a reform camp! You know what those camps are like. Torture and starvation. If the people don’t die, they lose their spirit entirely, a living ghost. That is what you fight for?! No. No son of mine would be so ruthless. So uncaring.”

Arthur let out a noise of frustration. 

“You’re right! That’s bad! But that’s Balinor, not Merlin! Merlin fought for the townspeople to be shown mercy, fights for the rights of everyone, not just magical people. He cares!” 

His father shook his head, scowl alight on his lips. He had a second to be taken by his similar it was to his own scowl but shook it off. It wasn’t important. 

“If you truly believe that, then you’re a fool. Your prince is no different to his father. Whatever lies he is telling you will be revealed as his true nature rears up. But I know you are not speaking, Arthur. It is your enchantment talking. I will free you from your affliction and then you will see.”

Arthur opened his mouth to talk, sword steady on his father as the man began to move, wary, but he was beaten. Merlin, the fool, and stepped out from Arthur’s protection and was looking at his father, hands raised in an act of proving innocence. Arthur tried to pull him back, a sound of panic leaving his lips unbidden, but Merlin just glared at him, stilling his hands. Huh. So even voiceless commands worked with their bond. 

“Lord Pendragon, please let me speak. I am not enchanting your son. He speaks the truth. I am not my father. I understand your anger. Believe me, I do. And you have my solemn vow that when I’m king things will be different. Non-magical people will be treated with as much respect and dignity as any magical person. Old titles will be upheld again, old Noble non-magical families given some of their land and their money back. I can’t promise everything, but we will live in peace, I swear-“

Merlin was cut off as his father laughed again, anger radiating off him as he approached Merlin, sword pressed against his chest. Arthur let out a noise of complaint, raising his sword, ready to fight his father if he had to, but Merlin shook his head, holding a hand up, even as his eyes never wavered from his father. Arthur swallowed thickly but held back. He didn’t put down his sword, though, body tense to step in at a moment’s notice. 

“I came in peace. Would you prove yourself a coward and slay an unarmed man?” Merlin questioned, almost casual, eyes hard. His father scowled but didn’t remove his sword. 

“Even if I did believe your words, which I never will, how long would that take? Months, years, decades? How much longer must my people suffer at the hands of your honorless father? No. This ends here, now. I will not wait a second longer. Your false promises hold no sway on me. It will not come to you becoming king. I will become king and you will be removed from your unearned throne. This, I promise you. And I will remove my son from your enchantment. Make no doubt about it.”

Great. Well, this was going well. It seemed all he’d managed to do was make his father angrier, more dedicated to his plan. He’d hoped to at least plant seeds of doubt in the man, but as he looked into the enraged, righteous eyes of his father, who was glaring daggers at his other half, he knew he never would. He had only one last card up his sleeve. He only prayed it was an ace. 

And so, despite the nerves he felt, praying Merlin would forgive him, he played his last hand. 

“What about the Once and Future King?!” he demanded, his father glancing to him with furrowed brow. He looked back at Merlin a second later, but his hand wavered. 

“I see no reason why a child’s fairytale would matter whatsoever here,” his father rejoined, dismissive. But Arthur could tell his father was paying attention. 

“It’s not a fairytale. It’s real, a prophesy. And Merlin…” Arthur paused, looking briefly at the prince. Merlin was still looking at his father, which made sense since he had a sword pointed at his chest, but his head was tilted slightly towards Arthur. He was listening. Arthur swallowed thickly but plowed on. Merlin would just have to forgive him. Hopefully. “Merlin is the warlock in the story. The Great Dragon, Kilgharrah, told me. He is destined to help reunite Albion, to right the wrongs of his father. I know it.”

He carefully did not mention that he was the Once and Future King. He didn’t think that would go over well, at the moment. 

His father wavered again, eyebrows furrowing, his sword dipping. Just as Arthur thought he might have actually gotten through to the old man, the sword was lifted back up, eyes hard. 

“It matters not. While Kilgharrah provided our family aid in our escape from Camelot, he is not a friend to non-magical people. He is a dragon, a creature of magic. As such, his words matter not. I am not the king of legend, nor would I ever trust a sorcerer to reunite this kingdom. It matters little to me what destiny this warlock has. Destiny means nothing to me. The future is what I make of it. And I will wage this war, destiny be damned.”

Well. There went his last chance. Merlin was still staring at the sword, but his back was tense, eyes wide. Ah, crap. Now he’d have to explain things to Merlin. Well, at least this made his request to possibly free Kilgharrah an easier one. 

“Father, please-“

His father cut him off again. He was starting to get tired of this. Gaius never cut him off this way. 

“No. I will hear no more. I will allow you and the false prince to leave here, unharmed, as long as you do not harm us. I am a man of honor, the likes you would not understand,” he directed at Merlin, backing up, sword still raised but no longer pressed against Merlin’s chest. “But as soon as you go, I will make good on my promises in the letter I sent.”

“No!” Merlin blurted, cutting his father off, for once. His father opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin spoke faster. “Please, the townspeople are innocent. They’ve done nothing wrong. Your war is not with them, it’s with me and my father. Leave them out of this-“

“And what of the townspeople of Magegrave?! Or the thousands of men, women, and children your father has executed for bearing a blade?! Were they not innocent? And yet your father has shown them no mercy. No, false prince. I have shown enough mercy as it is. Your father has rejected my terms and as such, the lives lost are on his hand, not mine. Now leave, before I change my mind,” his father growled, eyes dark as he glared at Merlin. Merlin swallowed but nodded tensely. He realized arguing would be futile. Good. Arthur didn’t want to have to force him to leave. Staying would do nothing for anyone, other than getting them killed. 

Merlin strode out of the tent, head held high and back straight. Arthur was about to follow when his father called his name. Arthur, almost against his will, paused, glancing at the man. Now that Merlin had left, his father seemed almost deflated, looking at him with what might have been longing in his old eyes. 

“Arthur. My son. Long have I wanted to see you. If you can hear me through your enchantment, then please believe me when I say I never wanted to leave you, or your mother. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I did it to keep you both safe. I’ve kept tabs on you both, as well as your sister, but I had to keep my distance. Please understand that everything I do, all of it, I do for you. So that you may live in a world where you don’t have to be treated as a second-class citizen. Sometimes, life gives you no choice but to attack. I hope you can understand this once your enchantment is broken.”

Arthur stared at his father, jaw clenching as he tried to figure out the right words to say. 

“I am not enchanted. I know you will never believe this, but it is true. Know this, however. If you kill these people, father? Then I will never forgive you. I understand why you had to leave. I even understand the rebellion, your anger. But this? Senseless murder? This, I cannot understand. A life for a life is no way to live. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. My mother taught me that.”

With that, Arthur exited the tent, blinking back the tears that had risen, unbidden. He met Merlin’s concerned eyes and nodded, showing he was okay. 

Together, the pair exited the town, Merlin tensing more and more the farther they got. When they had finally reached the entrance, a scout following them from a distance, Merlin paused, shuddering. 

“I have to do something, Arthur. I have to save them,” he muttered, his voice full of anger and sorrow. Arthur swallowed, but shook his head. 

“No. This is not a battle we can win. If we try, they’ll kill us. I don’t like it any more than you do, but we’re better to the world alive than dead,” he hissed, grabbing Merlin by his arm, and dragging him, gently, away. Merlin resisted at first, for a second, but eventually gave in and followed Arthur, head bowed low. 

It was as they were halfway to the army encampment that the screams started up, Merlin jerking to a stop, eyes wide. He looked back, but Arthur tugged on his hand, which he had grabbed after Merlin had started to follow him, squeezing gently. 

“I know, Merlin. I know. We have to get back to Camelot, though. We have things to discuss,” he intoned, eyes firmly ahead. Looking back would do nothing. He saw Merlin swallow thickly from his periphery, but he eventually nodded. He looked miserable as he walked away, tears in his eyes. Arthur understood. He’d meant what he said to his father. He could forgive the man for the war, understanding the reasons behind it. This? This he couldn’t forgive. It was needless death. Senseless. An eye for an eye. Revenge. 

The army encampment was rushing around as they approached, the screams loud enough to be heard from the distance. The general from earlier approached them, eyes wide. They had dropped hands before entering the encampment and Arthur was mourning the loss of the support. 

“Prince Merlin! Are you alright? We heard the screams and were preparing to send a team in to rescue you.”

Merlin shook his head, swallowing again as he tried to get the words out. 

“I’m fine. I spoke with the rebel leader. He refused my terms and is now making good on his promises to kill members of the town. He will not back down,” Merlin intoned, voice expressionless. The general reeled back and immediately began barking orders at the officers around him, telling them to prepare to attack. 

“Damn it. I didn’t expect differently, but I certainly had hoped. If anyone could change his mind, it would have been you, my prince. Will you oversee the battle?”

Merlin looked at the general with wide eyes. He looked almost… tempted. Arthur shook his head, though, forceful. 

“Your father is expecting you back at the castle, remember, my prince?” Arthur stressed, eyes meaningful on Merlin. He looked down, respectfully, when Merlin looked at him. He may not be respectful more than half the time, but he did know how a servant was expected to act around his master. 

Merlin looked at him for a moment, before nodding. 

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry, General Grey, but I must be returning to the citadel. It’s probably for the better; despite all my training, I’ve never overseen a battle. I’d probably just hold you all back,” he conceded, shrugging slightly. The General, General Grey he supposed, just shook his head, smiling slightly at the prince. 

“I have seen your training, my prince. I am certain that, were you to stay, you’d do just fine. Every general must start somewhere. Still, I will let you take your leave. Your horses will be brought to you at once,” he made a gesture to another officer, who nodded and left immediately, “and will prepare for battle here. I will send news as soon as we have the battle contained.”

Merlin nodded, eyes glassy. 

“Yeah. Thanks. I will warn you, though. From what we could see, the town is being set up for a siege. They will not go down easily. I will see if I can send the Castle Mages down to provide aid when I return. It should take at least four hours for them to arrive, however, which I apologize for.”

The General shook his head. 

“It is fine. We will put a stop to this rebellion, once and for all, my prince. No artifact can counter magic entirely. We’ve been working on counter spells to any and all known protection charms. No matter how powerful it is, it will be no match to our best sorcerers. Now, I apologize, but I must take my leave if my prince permits.”

Merlin nodded and gave his permission. With that, the General stalked away, barking more and more orders, the encampment getting ready for battle. Their horses arrived a moment later, the stable boy from earlier leading them. Merlin nodded to him in thanks, smile brittle. The boy blushed, looking away. Arthur felt an irrational spike of anger at the coyness but pushed it down. Jealousy was not helpful here, whatsoever. 

As they rode from the town, Merlin couldn’t shake the troubled look from his face. Arthur would sneak a glance every few seconds but couldn’t figure out how to break the silence. They had a lot to talk about, but this was not the right time, and certainly wasn’t the right place. 

They arrived back at the castle in a little under two hours. They didn’t have quite the rush as when heading out to meet the rebels, but they hadn’t dallied. Not a word was exchanged as they rode, making him feel awkward and tense. 

Entering the citadel had proved a little challenging, as had exiting it, since they were currently in lockdown. Apparently, news of the battle had reached the citadel, so they were on even higher alert. Luckily, Arthur had the foresight to remove his chainmail and sword before mounting. They were able to get into the city after Merlin pointed to his crown with a raised eyebrow.

As he dismounted his horse, a guard entered the room, telling Merlin his father wanted to see him, immediately. Merlin rolled his eyes privately at him, but sighed and nodded to the guard, saying he’d be right there. The guard left, giving them a moment alone. But Merlin said nothing, just sighed and bowed his head against his horse’s neck, Buttercup whinnying and butting her head against Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin smiled at that, petting the horse thankfully. Arthur looked away to give the man a mime of privacy and pet his own horse. The beast was probably the best gift he’d ever received, and he’d forever be thankful to Merlin for the stallion. 

Soon after the pair entered the castle a tension entered Merlin’s body, hands clenched and eyes hard. He didn’t even look at Arthur, which made him worried. Merlin was mad at him, yes, but surely, he wasn’t that upset? Hm. Perhaps he had lost more that day than he’d previously thought. 

When they reached the throne room, Merlin entered with his head held high. Though he knew he should wait outside, he entered quietly behind him, like a shadow. 

Luckily, the king didn’t even spare him a glance. Unluckily, it was because he had stridden up to Merlin and was glaring at him with rage in his eyes. 

“What on earth were you thinking Merlin?! Forging an official letter?! Meeting with an enemy army?! Against your king’s express orders! This is treason, of the highest order! Do you expect me to go easy on your because you are my son?!”

Arthur stiffened as the king got into Merlin’s face, his own filled with rage. To his credit, Merlin did not back down, though Arthur could see his hands shaking. 

“I did what you failed to do. I did what I could to protect my people, my kingdom!”

“And if they had killed you?! If you had died?! What for our kingdom then?!”

“But I didn’t die! I’m fine! I spoke with their leader, who is indeed Uther Pendragon, by the way, and he let me go! And I know more about his plans now! I got a look at their war table and have an idea of their next planned attacks! I am not a fool, father! Despite your insistence that I am!”

Silence followed Merlin’s declaration, the king breathing heavily. After a second, he pulled back, striding over to his throne. He spared Arthur a glance but didn’t say anything as he sat on his throne, face thunderous. 

“Regardless, you disobeyed me. You went against my direct orders. For this, you will be punished. You will spend the night in the dungeons. Pray that I am feeling merciful in the morning and let you out. Guards!” The king called, a couple guards entering with stony faces. Arthur wanted to shout, to say it was wrong, but knew if he said anything, he’d just make it worse. So, despite the rage that filled him, he just watched as Merlin was grabbed, his eye bleeding pain, but his jaw set. 

“Fine. I don’t regret my decisions. Someone has to lead this kingdom, and if you won’t, I will. I remain loyal to you, father. Please don’t push me away.”

With that, the guards took him away, Merlin striding out with his head high. Arthur felt proud of him, for keeping his composure. The man wouldn’t have been able to do it when he’d first met him. He’d grown so much in the past couple years and he was so very proud. 

However… with Merlin and the guards gone, he realized suddenly that he was left alone with the king. And the king was glaring at him with vitriol. 

“So. Whose plan was it, then, boy? My son’s, or yours?”

A chill filled Arthur, but he kept his face neutral as he bowed his head. Before he could speak, the king spoke again, voice angry. 

“Look at me. After all. A king should be able to look at another.”

That made him look up, eyes wide. He didn’t look the king in the eyes, didn’t dare show such daring, but his heart had stopped. He must have heard wrong. 

“I- I don’t know what you mean, my king. I am no king.”

The king laughed, sounding scarily like his own father. Funny, the two men were so different, and yet so alike. 

“Aren’t you? I bet you and my son thought yourselves clever. Plotting together under my nose. I should have you killed here and now,” he hissed. Arthur felt his spine crawl as fear filled him. He tensed, hands clenched though he refused to retreat, but the king snorted, waving him off. “And yet I know if I do, I will be signing my own death warrant. I saw the look in my son’s eyes when I threatened to kill you for treason the other day. And here I was, thinking I’d been so careful to keep him away from any young man his age. When I caught him with that peasant from town, I thought I had ended that damned prophecy at last. And yet, I fear all I did was cause him to hate me. Perhaps it’s true what they say. You bring about your own damnation in your bid to prevent destiny’s blade.”

Arthur could only look at the king, minding to not look him in the eye, mind frozen. He had no idea what to say. How... how had the king figured it out? He’d been careful. Hadn’t he? And it wasn’t like Merlin knew. So, he couldn’t have let it slip by accident...

“I will not back down, boy. I have done too much to back down now. I would rather die than watch that bastard Pendragon get anywhere near this throne. I have worked hard to prevent his reign. I have nothing else to lose. Do what you must, but I will not make it easy. All I ask is that you let my son keep his throne. He will be a great king one day. He will not be made your servant. That is all I ask.” 

Arthur felt his throat unstick, though his mind was still frozen. The king was awaiting a reply, though, and one never left a king waiting long. 

“I see no reason why your son would not become king one day,” was his eventual response, words carefully measured. He didn’t bother deny his destiny, knowing it would just anger the king. But he wouldn’t confirm it, either, in case the king was lying about not wishing to kill him. After all, he’d admitted to attempting it the other night. 

The king stared at him, long and hard, before nodding. 

“Go, then. I will let my son out in the morning. I’d advise you to not counter me again, though. I will not be so lenient next time. You are dismissed.”

Despite the indignation that Arthur felt at the king’s entire demeanor, he knew he’d be a damned fool if he didn’t accept his dismissal with grace, so he just bowed his head and strode carefully out of the room. He kept his head high and his steps measured despite how he longed to run. 

He headed back down to the stables to give his and Merlin’s horses some treats. He knew Merlin would have done it himself if he were able. Once done, he grabbed his things and headed back to his room. His own room since Merlin was _in the dungeon_. It was a beautiful spring day, the sun shining, but he had never felt colder inside. Perhaps he and Merlin should enter a contest for ‘worst interaction with distant fathers.’ He honestly had no idea who would win. 

Gaius looked at him when he entered, but Arthur just shook his head, everything in him tired. Bone tired. He finally understood what Gaius meant when he used the phrase. He’d never felt more exhausted. 

Gaius still walked over to him and pulled him into a tight hug. Arthur felt tears rise to his eyes and just let them fall. He’d had too much happen that day. 

“I met him,” he whispered, voice ragged. He heard Gaius make a confused sound, though the older man ran his aged hands down his back soothingly. Oh, right. He’d not told the man where he’d been going, to keep him safe. “My father. He’s leading the rebellion and thinks I’m enchanted. He didn’t listen to me when I asked him to stop. I fear if he knew I wasn’t enchanted, he’d hate me. Gaius...”

“Shh, Arthur,” Gaius hummed, holding him closer. It was probably for the better. Arthur was just working himself up. He cut off his hysterical words and just buried his head in Gaius’s shoulder. 

“The king put Merlin in the dungeon,” he muttered, causing the older man to stiffen, before carefully relaxing. “For going against his orders.”

“The king has done that before. He thinks it builds character. I’ll go to Merlin later, to make sure he’s alright. You should rest, however, my boy. You look exhausted.”

“There’s more,” he muttered, though he didn’t deny Gaius’s assessment of his exhaustion. He was right. “The king knows of my destiny. He said he won’t kill me since Merlin would kill him if he did, but he also said he wouldn’t back down. I don’t... I don’t know what to do.”

Gaius hummed, shaking his head. 

“You need to rest, Arthur. You cannot possibly do anything when exhausted. Sleep, and then we can come up with a plan. Alright?”

Arthur nodded absently, pulling back from Gaius, and wandering to his room. He paused at his door, half turning back at Gaius, staring at the wall, a sad smile on his lips. 

“I’m glad I have you, Gaius. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t. You’re more a father to me than my father is. Thank you.”

He tried to put all his feeling into it, even with how tired he felt. Gaius let out a sound, tutting softly. 

“Thank you, my boy. It means the world to hear you say that. And you know I view you as my own. I always will. I am so proud of you, Arthur, and all you have achieved. Sleep well, my boy.”

Arthur nodded, turning back, and entering his bed. It felt so much harder now that he’d gotten used to Merlin’s cloud like bed, but he was too tried to care. 

As he fell asleep, he had no idea what the future held. He had so much to talk to Merlin about. So very much. 

But it would have to wait.

For now, he slept. 

And he dreamt of war. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~New player Uther has been added to the board!~~
> 
> Ahh, so yes. Uther IS alive. I did mention how I wanted this to be a role reversal, yes? So I wanted Uther to be alive, like Balinor was in canon. However, I fully doubt that Uther would ever be content to sit idly by instead of taking action. I do explain later as to why it took him so long to return to fight, so if you're wondering that, don't worry! It does get (kind of) explained. 
> 
> Now, as for the bond... Ahhh. This was not actually something I had planned! I brought the whole "Merlin, step back!" thing up because I realized it would fit. When I initially wrote that scene, I had kind of hand waved it off to myself, saying "it's their bond!" But then later, I was like... oh shoot, why did that happen? And so I came up with this... really weird bond thing?? It's not quite a soul bond, as I've always hated those in fics, but it's just... they're connected and they listen to what the other wants, with the desire to do as the other asks. They can still say no, though! If they truly didn't want to, they have the power to resist. But, if they are indifferent to it, or do want to do it themselves, their bond just... amplifies the feeling? I honestly don't know. I spent so long agonizing over the details of this bond, wondering if I should scrape the whole idea, but I kept it. And it comes into play a lot later on in the story, so it's kind of stuck in here now. I hope it's not too confusing. Basically, the way I saw it, it's like the bond between Kilgharrah and Merlin from the show, but it goes both ways and it is not mandatory for them to do it. 
> 
> I know it's a bit confusing, so feel free to ask questions if you are confused! I'm always happy to try and clarify my thinking. 
> 
> Anyway! I hope this chapter made sense. Things start to get moving very soon so be prepared. :-)


	26. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, what up, I don't know what's happening in this story at this point, so here's a chapter without much commentary. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Spending a night in the dungeons never got any easier. Certainly not now that he had gotten so used to sleeping in a warm bed, beside a warmer body. While it was now early spring, the mid-March weather warmer, it was still cold and uncomfortable in the dungeons. And damp.

He hoped Arthur was alright. He’d left the man, alone, with his father. When the man was blindingly angry. That… didn’t bode well. But the inner warmth that he’d felt since creating his bond with Arthur still burned bright. He’d know if the man were hurting, let alone dead. He felt secure that he wasn’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere. 

However, being thrown in jail did throw a wrench in his plan to ask Arthur What The Hell he meant about him being the warlock in that old prophecy. He’d been able to get a guard to send a message to his father, asking him to send his Mages out, at least, so all he had to focus on was his utter confusion and terror at the word’s Arthur had said. 

Now. It’s not like he’d never thought about it. After all, he had met the Great Dragon once. He’d been so young, then. Just beginning to realize his power. The Dragon had fascinated him, far larger and more powerful than any other he’d met, even briefly. He had stared up in awe at the powerful beast. And then he’d spoken of the old night story he’d heard whispers of in the castle, the servant children (who his father always informed him to stay away from, but he never listened) telling whispered stories about. 

His father had grown so distant after that. Perhaps… well. Maybe he had suspected it? That Merlin was the warlock. Merlin had always denied the thought, once he’d been old enough to even think it. Wonder it. 

After watching Will die… it had been an accident. His father had found out, his anger palpable. He’d hurled a curse at him. It wouldn’t have hurt him. It was non-lethal to a sorcerer. But Will hadn’t known that. Will had just seen the light hurtle toward Merlin and had reacted. Pushed him out of the way and got hit himself. He’d had only enough time to look at Merlin with sorrow in his eyes before… well. 

His father had actually shown remorse at that. It was for the better. If he hadn’t, Merlin would have hated him forever. But his father had never cared that Will had died. Only that it hurt Merlin. 

Was Will the Once and Future King of prophecy? Or, rather, had he been? Maybe. 

The bigger question was, was he the warlock? 

He had always been considered the best warlock of his age. Of any age if some people were to be believed. Even greater than Cornelius Sigan, who had created the castle they existed in. The prophecy spoke of The Once and Future King being united with the most powerful warlock. Those were the words the Dragon had told him, at least. Certainly, it made sense. 

Once, not too long ago, he’d have denied it adamantly, saying he’d never betray his father. But now… well. He was currently locked in a dungeon, sent here by his father. Say what you will about the man, but the king sure did like to make enemies where none existed. Not that he considered his father his enemy, definitely not. He’d been truthful when he said he loved his father still. But if his father gave him no choice…

Anyway. That was less important now. What mattered most was what and how Arthur knew. And for how long. 

The man had mentioned the Great Dragon, even calling him by name. What did that mean? Had he gone down the see the Dragon? But why? And how? The key to the cave was hard to come by. He had one copy, yes, but he kept it safe. Not that he needed it, as his magic was good enough at unlocking the supposedly unbreakable lock. Had Arthur stolen it, at some point? Maybe. Though… he did remember, barely, that Gaius may have had a key as well. Perhaps that, then? The older man had seemed interested in the prophecy when he’d told him about his trip to the Dragon. 

Okay. Say he was that sorcerer. It was possible. He wouldn’t deny it out of hand. If that were the case, then who was his counterpart?

Well. That answer was easy. 

_Arthur_.

Hm. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? Arthur, being the Once and Future King. It should be ridiculous, but…

Merlin remembered all the times he’d had the idea that Arthur would make a better prince than him. Had seen him, shining and golden in the sun. Hell, the very first time he’d seen the man, he’d been captivated by his beauty, likening him to a prince even then. If anyone could be the Once and Future King, it would be him. 

Was that why Arthur believed in him so much? Because of a supposed shared destiny?

For some reason, the thought made his stomach turn. He didn’t want all the two shared to be because of a supposed future they’d share. Yes, Merlin believed in destiny. Believed it guided a person into their determined future. But he didn’t like the idea of everything he and Arthur shared being because the other man perceived them to be bound together by Fate. 

Oh, God. 

If they’re were bound… would that be why they cared so deeply for one another? Was everything a lie?

Merlin took a deep, steady breath, bringing his knees to his chest to try and escape the bitter cold that now filled him. 

It didn’t matter, he supposed. Destiny, fate. The future was still unwritten. The futures that soothsayers saw were just possible futures. A maybe future. Yes, it was hard to change what was seen, especially without knowing if your changes were actually changes, or if they were just leading to the actual future. But it wasn’t impossible. His father proved that. Though, after what he had heard from Arthur’s father, perhaps the future hadn’t been prevented after all. Just delayed. 

God. What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t cut out for this. There was no confirmation that he was the Warlock, or that Arthur was The Once and Future King, but the more he thought on it, the more it made sense. Why he’d always felt a pull towards the other man. Why he’d sometimes listen to the man without thought, even before they bound themselves together on purpose (or at least they made the decision to declare undying loyalty to one another, Merlin’s magic binding the words unprompted). Why he’d felt so much grief when thinking of losing Arthur. 

If they had been bound before he’d even been born…

Hm. 

So much. So, so much. Everything. Always. Just the previous night he’d been terrified that Arthur had betrayed him completely. Now, he thought the man his counterpart in an epic destiny the likes the world had never seen, sitting in a frigid jail cell his own father had put him in. Here he sat, considering treason, after years of doing all he could to please a father who had never trusted him. A father who couldn’t quite bring himself to unconditionally love the man who would one day, supposedly, betray him. 

It hurt more than anything else that that was why his father had always seemed to hate him so. Why nothing he did was ever right. Regardless of if he was the warlock of legend or not, he knew in his heart of hearts that this was why his father had hated him so. Not because of anything he did, but because of who he supposedly was. That was his father. His king. Making enemies out of allies. Out of family. 

What would be worse, he mused, as he watched a spider skitter across the wall. If he were or weren’t the Warlock? If he weren’t, then his father had pushed him away for no reason at all. And if he were… then, through his father’s fear and uncertainty, the man’s bitter attempts to keep Merlin away from his destiny, he’d driven a wedge between them that not even a year of being friendly could dislodge. And now, here, in this cell… thinking these thoughts, for the first time without an overwhelming sense of guilt? He knew his loyalty to his father was paper thin, at best. He’d watched Arthur, the man who adored the image of his father, turn the man away in disgust at the actions the man was taking. All for him. For the future he believed Merlin would create. 

Except… no. That wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t Merlin’s future, after all. Not exactly. 

It was their future. Their destiny. Shared, if he was correct. And even if he wasn’t, if he wasn’t the Warlock of legend, then their destiny would still be a shared one. He couldn’t imagine a future without Arthur in it. Couldn’t bear the thought. He’d raze Camelot to the ground before that happened. Well… maybe not. But maybe by accident, in his grief and rage. For the only way they could be parted was in the final sense. Otherwise, they’d always find one another. He firmly believed that. 

Their love may not have been named outright, but it had been named through deed. Through action. And it was a true one. Being held by Arthur... he’d never felt a sweeter thing. 

He was pulled from his musing when he heard a sound by the entrance to the dungeons. It was still midday, he noticed, his sense of time waning in the mostly dark dungeon. There was only a small window for him to see the outside world. He almost dismissed the sound, thinking it was just a visitor for another prisoner, when a figure stepped into his view before his cell. And his face grew into a grin, unbidden, as he bolted up and headed to the cell doors. 

“Gaius!” He cried happily, never so pleased to see the older man. “How is Arthur? Is he okay?”

He felt a little bad for demanding such a thing immediately upon his secondary father’s arrival, not even asking how the older man himself was, but this was important. This was Arthur he was talking about. His Arthur. 

Gaius didn’t take any offense at the brusque words (not that he’d thought the man would), and just nodded quickly. 

“Yes, my prince. He is fine. He’s currently in bed, exhausted. Your journey must have taken a lot out of the poor boy.”

Merlin let out a keen at that. It wasn’t right. He should be there, now. Watching over Arthur. Holding him as he rested. Pressed tight together. Not here, in this damp cell. 

“Yeah. I know. I’m glad he’s okay. I unwillingly left him in the throne room with my enraged father, which is never a good thing. Did he really look alright? He wasn’t hurt?” Merlin fretted. Part of him was afraid he was being ridiculous, and Gaius would tease him like usual, but the older man was almost somber as he nodded carefully, hand grasping Merlin’s, which had begun clutching the bar without him thinking about it. 

“Yes, he looked alright. Just tired. He told me that your father had locked you down in here and I promised I’d come down here to see you. Are _you_ alright, Merlin?”

Merlin hesitated for a second, before shrugging nonchalantly. He looked over at the guards a few paces away and muttered a quiet silencing charm. The dungeons had magic dampening charms on them, to prevent escape, but they had never affected his magic. And his father hadn’t put on the manacles that burned him for preforming magic, so he was able to cast basic spells at least. So, he had that. He most definitely needed to talk to someone about the things he’d just been obsessing about. 

“I’m alright. I guess. The dungeons haven’t got any more pleasant in the last ten years, I can say that,” he groused, trying to smile to show he was okay with it, but it ended up falling a bit flat. Gaius didn’t call him out on it, though. Just looked at him sadly. Hm. “I have some questions for you, though. I’ve been thinking a lot. Strange, I know.”

Gaius smiled at that, but just nodded at him to continue. Merlin took a deep breath, then continued. 

“Do you remember when I was nine? I told you something. About the Great Dragon.”

Gaius stiffened, before standing up straighter, eyes more serious. He looked around, making sure the silencing charm was still up, and nodded soberly. 

“Well. I was thinking about that. When we were meeting with the rebel leader, Arthur said some… well. Strange things. About… about me. And… and the old prophecy. He said…”

Wow. Merlin was struggling to get the words out. He didn’t know why it was so hard. You just opened your mouth, and words came out. Come on, Emrys. Get it together. 

Exhaling deeply, Merlin continued. 

“Well. He said that I, as in me, am… well. The warlock the prophecy mentioned. Said the Great Dragon himself told him. But, but that ridiculous! Right?”

Merlin kept a close eye on Gaius. The man didn’t always say things plainly, but he usually couldn’t leave his emotions off his face. 

Case in point; as Merlin finished speaking, Gaius looked off to the side, quick, before looking back. It was a tell of his. Merlin felt his stomach clench. 

“I’m not sure I understand, Merlin. What did Arthur say, exactly?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, not wanting to do this dance. 

“Cut the crap, Gaius. Is it true? Am I? Don’t you lie to me, alright? I’m sick of being lied to and deceived. Please don’t do it yourself.”

Gaius sighed, put-upon, but eventually nodded, eyes somber. 

“Alright. Alright. Yes, my dear boy. You are. I’ve suspected it since you first showed signs of your considerable power, suspicions that only strengthened as you got older. Then, when you told me of your visit to the Great Dragon, how he called to you… well. I hadn’t been positive, but if I were a betting man, I’d have taken that gamble. Merlin-“

Merlin held a hand up, shaking his head. Gaius was looking at him with sorrowful eyes, but Merlin wasn’t looking. He was looking at the bars, hands clenching. 

“So that’s how it is. Father suspected, didn’t he? That’s why… all those years. I did everything I could to get him to love me. To want me. And it never would have worked, would it have? I never asked for this. I just wanted him to love me. Why, Gaius? Why?”

Merlin didn’t even know what he was asking Gaius. Why was he the subject of the prophecy? Or why did his father never love him? 

Gaius hummed, grabbing his other hand through the bar, and holding it gently. 

“I cannot say, my boy. I’ve known your father for a very, very long time. I’m afraid I’ll never understand his reasoning.”

Hm. Merlin nodded absently, looking down at the old hand that held his. 

“You’ve been more a father to me than he has been,” Merlin admitted softly, eyes misting. He’d always privately felt that, but he’d never said it aloud. It had always felt like a personal failing. He wasn’t even sure why. 

Gaius hummed, shaking his head. 

“Your father did his best, Merlin, I-“

Merlin cut him off, anger filling his chest. 

“I don’t care! I don’t care! I was a child! I needed him! I _loved_ him. I’d have done anything, anything at all, just to hear he was proud of me, even once! I don’t care he was ‘doing his best!’ His best wasn’t good enough! Gaius. Gaius, I can’t...” Merlin’s gasped, blinking back tears. He wiped them off with the hand Gaius wasn’t holding, gritting his teeth angrily. “I never wanted to betray him. I, I had suspected myself, you know. Of being the warlock. B-but I always denied it. Because I could never go against my own father. But he… sometimes I look at him and he’s like a stranger. Like I never knew him at all. He’s been pushing so many people away, for so long now. I would have followed him anywhere. And now…”

Merlin bowed his head, frown deep on his face. He loved his father. He did. But how could he forgive him? For this? For all of it? How? He’d been devoted to his father, to being the best son he could be, and it hadn’t been enough. It took him pointing out the unfairness of the situation before his father even realized what he’d been doing and had the desire to change. Maybe he’d been a good man when he’d started this whole thing out. Years and years ago. But… 

But he wasn’t a good man. Not anymore. Maybe he wasn’t a bad man, either. But he wasn’t a good one. Wasn’t the man Merlin had always thought him to be. Wanted him to be, more like. 

It hurt more than he could imagine to such a thing. A child always wants to think the best of their parents. To think they could do no wrong, that they were invincible. Incredible. Larger than life itself. Merlin had done away with such nonsense years ago, but part of him still wanted to believe it. 

But now? God. How could he now? His father was willingly waging war against an unknown enemy, not even considering compromise. Not even entertaining the notion of mercy. He said he had no choice. That he was forced to do this. Merlin thought that was bullshit. There was always a choice. Maybe the choices were all bad ones, but one had the liberty to choose. His father had choices. He just refused to look at them. 

“I wish this had never happened, Gaius,” Merlin muttered, soft. Gaius sighed in return, grasping his hand tight. 

“I know, my dear boy. I know. Most who have such a destiny do. But you will become the best of us, Merlin. I am sure of it.”

Merlin snorted, shaking his head. He had a smile on his face, but it felt false. Fake. 

“I think you mean The Once and Future King will be the best of us. After all. I’m just a side character in this destiny. Support. Was I ever meant to be king, myself? Or was I just supposed to hand it over to my supposed counterpart?”

Merlin said the words with anger and annoyance, but in reality... well. Maybe he felt a little relieved at the thought. He’d seen what the weight of the crown had done to his father. He barely remembered the happier man from his childhood, still burdened by the futures he had seen, but not completely far gone. He couldn’t really remember that man. The father who had loved him unconditionally. Who thought he was his greatest achievement. The throne had taken that man and beaten him until he was raw and bloody. A shadow of the man he once was. Maybe he didn’t want that. Maybe he’d be glad to hand his crown over to another, to not have to deal with the unending pressure.

Besides. If he was right about who his counterpart was… well. There was no better man to take the throne, he felt. Hell, he’d willingly step aside and become the servant himself for Arthur. His father thought that a life of servitude was the worst life one could lead. Merlin thought differently. The worst life one could lead was a life where the person lost all sense of their self. When they forgot who they were and became someone new. Someone… someone so opposite to the person they once were it was like looking into a distorted mirror. Merlin could take being a servant. Could take living a simple life. He couldn’t take allowing the person he was to be altered so irrevocably that he didn’t even know who he was anymore. Couldn’t take driving everyone he loved, who loved him, away out of fear and anger. Being a servant would be better than that. Anything would be. 

Gaius shook his head though, frowning slightly. 

“No, Merlin. I do not think that is the case. You are destined to become king. I am sure of that.”

Merlin laughed, bitterly, shaking his head. 

“How is that possible? Both me and my counterpart, destined to be king?”

He asked the question, but he already knew the answer. Knew it in how his heart sped up. In how his mouth ran dry. Oh, he knew how two men could quite easily become king. It had never happened before, was likely against a ton of laws, but… well. Desperate times. Everyone knew that marriage was more political than romantic, for Nobles at least. Marriages of convenience and power were common. The prince marrying the Once and Future King would have been the ultimate marriage. He doubted anyone would deny it. 

And if it was Arthur…

Merlin cut Gaius off as he opened his mouth to speak, suddenly needing to ask another needless question, heart pounding, palms sweating. 

“And what about my counterpart? Huh? Who are they?”

Gaius smiled at him. Softly. Sadly. Merlin didn’t know if it was sympathy or pity in his eyes. Didn’t know if there was even a difference between the two. 

“Must you really ask, my prince? I think you already know the answer to that one.”

Merlin’s throat grew impossibly dry, as he nodded absently. He forced himself to say the word. The name. Part of him never wanted to say it, to keep it a secret forever, but he wasn’t a coward. Not anymore. 

“Arthur,” he breathed. Part of him wanted Gaius to laugh and shake his head, tickled at the foolish thought. But his vain hopes were dashed when Gaius just nodded solemnly, eyes full of sympathy. Merlin swallowed. Oh. 

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, _okay_. He could handle this. He’d already suspected it. He’d already _known_ , deep down inside, in his very core. He knew it like he knew that sky was blue. It was just… a fact. Something that didn’t need debate because it was just an unspoken truth. Something everything knew. 

Still. Hearing it confirmed… 

“Oh. God,” he whispered, stepping back, dropping Gaius’s hand. He kept retreating until his back hit the wall, where he slid into a seated position, hand rising to his hair. He didn’t know why he was so afraid. Who better to be his counterpart? Who better to stay be his side for all eternity? It was just-

“How long,” he gasped. He continued when Gaius gave him a confused look. “How long as he known. Arthur. How long has he kept this from me?”

Gaius tsked, shaking his head. 

“Does that matter, Merlin? Arthur is devoted to you, he-”

“Stop! Just… tell me the truth. Please. How long?”

Gaius sighed, shaking his head. 

“These are questions that you should be asking him. Not me. All I will say is that that boy adores you. Even back in the beginning, when he only ever complained, I could see the begrudging respect he held for you. When you sent him away, that first month, he was so very distraught. He hadn’t known his destiny then, I will tell you that much. His feelings are his own. The prophecy never spoke of feelings of intimacy between the Warlock and King, just loyalty. What you are feeling, what he is feeling... that is of your doing. Nothing else’s.”

Merlin nodded absently, though he was still gripping his hair. Just one thing after another, wasn’t it? What, was he going to learn that his mother was actually alive? That Gaius was secretly the evil mastermind behind this entire thing? That Freya was the traitor?! It was so much. Too much. He didn’t know how much more he could take. Even good news felt like it would topple him. Maybe it was good Arthur was destined to be king. Even if they ruled together, at least he wouldn’t have to face it alone. 

Hm. That was a pleasant thought. Not having to face the future alone. To know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was destined to be beside someone for all of eternity. To know he belonged to someone so utterly. So completely. Arthur was _his_. And he was Arthur’s. They’d be together for the rest of their lives, however long that may be. And then long passed that. 

There was a sense of comfort, there. A sense of belonging. He’d spent his life trying to gain approval from a man who’d never have given it, all because of this godforsaken destiny. At least now he’d gotten something incredible from it. 

At least he’d gotten Arthur. 

It did hurt, a little, to think that if it weren’t for the destiny that Arthur wouldn’t be his. That it wasn’t entirely their choice. But, on the flip side, it was humbling that Fate herself intervened in his life and gave him such a gift. She could have tied him to an evil man, after all. Instead, she gave him the best of them all. Arthur, the shining knight. Arthur Pendragon, the shining prince. 

Wait up. Hold on. Merlin sat up straight and looked at Gaius with wide eyes. 

“Hang on. Gaius, do you know who Arthur’s father is? I do, so don’t worry about that.” 

Gaius had wide eyes but nodded his head cautiously. Merlin had thoughts racing through his head, so he had to fight to try and pick them out. 

“Uther. It’s Uther. Pendragon. That means… if the future father saw were correct, if Uther Pendragon had been the king to outlaw magic… then Arthur would have been prince. Yeah? He…” Merlin laughed. He wasn’t sure if he was actually amused or not. “Father said he saw me. In his vision. A servant, to an uncaring prince. That would have been Arthur, wouldn’t it? Arthur would have been prince in my stead, and I the serving boy. God.”

It was fitting, he felt. Why Arthur always looked the part so much more than him. Why Arthur inspired such loyalty the moment one met him. Destiny never forgot the future, even if it were deterred. What was would always be, even if the details shifted. A shining prince never could fully become a bumbling country bumpkin. Not completely. 

And a bumbling country bumpkin… well. At least now he knew why he’d always been so bad at being a prince. Why he’d struggled so hard. He wasn’t supposed to fit this role. This wasn’t his destined position. He was meant to be the servant. The support. A warlock, beaten down by the laws of the land, prevented from using magic, even if it would save his or his prince’s lives. 

The thought made his heart clench, causing him to gasp bitterly. God. Even the thought of it hurt. No wonder his father had tried so hard to prevent that future. Merlin hadn’t even seen it, and it hurt him so greatly. Being the servant wasn’t the problem. He wouldn’t have minded being a servant, especially if that had been all he’d ever known. It was the lack of magic that hurt him. To even think of a world where he had to hide what was so natural to him, on fear of death… at least with his father, he’d never outlawed anything that was instinctive. Something that a person was born with. He didn’t sentence people to death for being born. Not to say his father was innocent, or that his laws were fairer or better, but still. People could choose not to wield a blade. He couldn’t have ever chosen to not wield his magic. It was as much a part of him as his brain was. He was sure he’d die without it. 

“As I told Arthur, my prince, it is not so simple,” Gaius claimed, causing Merlin to look up. Gaius was still looking at him with that damned pity. Damn him. “What could have been doesn’t matter now. This is the reality in which we live. A reality where you, my boy, are the prince. Not Arthur. Arthur has accepted this. I will not speak more about his feelings on the matter, as I have no right to do so, but do not think for even one second that he resents you for how this world shook out. He adores you, Merlin. He is as proud of you as I am. Do not doubt that.”

Merlin nodded absently. Fine. Okay. Alright. Whatever. He was too tired to really care. Not at the moment. 

Gaius was right about one thing, at the least. The other future, the one his father had altered? It didn’t matter. Not when this reality was so confusing and conflicting. When he had so very much to worry about. He didn’t need an alternate future that no longer existed to worry about. He wasn’t his father. He never had been. 

He let go of his hair and let his head hit back against the rough stone wall. He sighed. 

“Alright. I need to talk to Arthur. If father ever lets me out.”

“I’m sure he will, Merlin. Your father does love you, even if he doesn’t know how to show it. He’s just-“

“Don’t. Please, Gaius. Please don’t defend him. I don’t hate him. But I... I don’t want to hear any more excuses for him. Not now. Not after all he’s done. Not now. Please.”

Gaius shut his mouth and just nodded. Merlin was just so tired of excuses. He understood why Gaius did it. It was just tiresome. 

“You should go, Gaius. I’ll be okay. Make sure Arthur’s alright. He looked shaken after our meeting with his father. I don’t want him to be alone.”

More than that, though, was the fact he, himself, wanted to be alone. So terribly alone. He’d never be alone again and maybe a part of him was mourning the loss of that isolation. Funny. Once, he’d have done anything to not be so alone. And maybe he still would give anything for it, though he didn’t have to pay a thing. It was the principle of the matter. Man always wanted that which they once had but no longer possessed. That which they had lost without ever fully appreciating it. 

Gaius looked at him and Merlin had the feeling he understood what he wasn’t saying. But the older man was always so merciful, and just nodded. 

“Alright, Merlin. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

“Funny, Gaius. It seems I always need it,” he returned, sardonic smile on his lips. Gaius sighed again but nodded. 

“Don’t we all?” 

Gaius looked like he wanted to say more, but he held it in. He bid Merlin goodbye, saying he’d speak to the king, before he left. 

And then Merlin was alone. Like he had wanted. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Arthur sat in Merlin’s empty room the next morning, wringing his hands. 

After his nap, the day before, he’d woken and had paced restlessly around Gaius’s quarters. The older man had tried to distract him, but nothing had worked. He’d been too worked up. 

He’d then barely slept that night, restless energy abundant. The funny thing was that he was still so tired, and yet also so wired. Burning a candle at both ends, he supposed. He just couldn’t help thinking about what would come. About the war his sister had seen, the war the Dragon alluded to. About his father and Merlin’s father and the future and the deterred future. And just… all of it. His destiny. His future. 

Needless to say, he currently was exhausted. He had finally given up on sleep an hour before dawn and had headed up to Merlin’s rooms. The man still was not there, but Arthur took his time to tidy up the space. It hadn’t been a mess at all, but still. He’d reorganized Merlin’s wardrobe completely. Had mended shirts barely frayed, shined boots until they shone, scrubbed the floors until his fingers were sore. Anything to keep him busy. 

Now he was sat on the settee, wringing his hands as he tried to think of what else he could possibly do. He wanted to see Merlin, but he had to wait to do that. All he could do now was wait. For everything. All he could see was what he still had to do; he wanted to be there already. The waiting was killing him. The anticipation. He wanted this to all be over already. But he still had an unknown amount of time left before anything could be done. Was this what Merlin had been feeling these past several months? No wonder he always looked so stressed and worried. He had a newfound respect for the prince now. 

It was as he was about to think he was going to throw himself into the fire to escape this whole thing, the door banged open, making Arthur spring up and stare at the doorway with wide eyes. He didn’t know what he would do if it was an intruder, but luckily it wasn’t. 

Instead, it was Merlin, who looked dead tired but still aware. Arthur didn’t know if this was better or not. 

“Merlin,” he said, trying not to sound afraid. The prince just looked at him, eyes inscrutable, for a long minute. Arthur longed to say something, anything, but Merlin just sighed, shaking his head as he stretched his muscles. 

“There’s a lot I want to say Arthur. How I feel angry. Betrayed. Terrified. But right now…” Merlin trailed off, closing the door before heading over to take a seat on his bed with a groan, shaking his head. He looked back up at Arthur a second later and smiled softly. “Right now, I just want you to hold me. Can you do that?” 

His heart skipped a beat at the look in Merlin’s eye. It was indescribable. Warmth and love and devotion. Mixed with something that he had no name for but knew intimately, as he felt it himself. Arthur just nodded dumbly, removing his boots and jacket as he approached the bed. Merlin removed his boots as well, his jacket having been removed at some point. Arthur would have to find the thing later. He rather liked that jacket, thanks. He’d mended it enough times to grow a sense of attachment. 

Done with that, Arthur rounded the bed and got in, laying down with his arms open. Merlin, sighing like it took everything in him to even move, laid down as well and shuffled over. The moment his head hit Arthur’s shoulder, he curled in on himself, pulling the man as close to Arthur as he could get. Arthur allowed it, shifting himself to bring the prince somehow closer. 

For the first time since the meeting with his father… he felt peace. Holding Merlin, lying beside him… Arthur couldn’t help the sigh of relief he gave, leaning his forehead against the top of Merlin’s head. Merlin shifted, hands forcing Arthur to shift as well, until both men faced one another, Arthur’s arm secure around Merlin’s waist while Merlin’s arms laid tenderly on Arthur’s chest. Merlin leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Arthur’s, eyes closed. It was like he was just… drinking the moment in. Savoring it. Arthur knew how he felt. He’d only spent one night in the dungeon, after a misunderstanding with a Noble, but it had not been a pleasant time. To have been sent there, by his own father… well. His own meeting with his father had gone poorly, but it wasn’t a competition. If it were, he had no idea who’d be winning. Probably Merlin. He’d had over twenty-two years to be disappointed by his father. 

“It’s all just so much, isn’t it, Arthur? Just one thing after another. No peace. No rest. Just… on and on. Forever,” Merlin mumbled, shaking his head slightly, lips turned down in a bitter frown. Arthur found he hated the expression and vowed to kiss it off the man. And so, he did, tenderly kissing the lips, feeling them move sluggishly against his. 

“Things are bleak, yes. But you mustn’t give up hope. We’ve got each other, don’t we?” He muttered back, against Merlin’s lips. Merlin hummed, giving him a chaste kiss before pulling back. Not much, just slightly. 

“Do we?” Merlin mumbled, causing Arthur’s heart to stutter. Did Merlin truly doubt him, still? He’d opened his mouth to reply, but Merlin shook his head, bright blue eyes opening to stare at him. There was a strange sorrow in them. An unending sadness. Arthur longed to make it go away, but part of him feared he never would. That grief would never leave. Not fully. 

“Who are you, Arthur Pendragon? What do you want?” 

Well. Wasn’t that the question for the ages? After all. Who was he? What did he want? 

“I am your servant, my prince. I am loyal to you. And Camelot. I want peace. And,” he paused, looking up at Merlin. He smiled. “I want you. In whatever way you will have me.” 

Merlin looked at him. Long and hard. Like he was looking into his very soul. Arthur didn’t look away. He just stared back, gaze steady. He wasn’t afraid. 

Whatever Merlin was looking for he must have found it. He smiled, weak at first, before it grew stronger. He laughed, shaking his head. Tears gathered at his eyes, but they did not fall. Arthur had never loved him more. 

“You are the Once and Future King. Aren’t you? Please don’t lie. I’m so tired of people lying to me. Of hiding things from me. I just want the truth.”

Arthur swallowed thickly. He wanted to look away, but he was anything but a coward. He looked Merlin straight in the eye and inclined his head. 

“I have been given reason to believe that I am, my prince. But I swear that my loyalty to you will never waver. I have no aims for the crown. To be by your side… that is all I can ask.”

Merlin laughed, but it was husky. Not his usual bell-like laugh. It made his stomach turn. 

“But you expect a lot from me, don’t you? King Arthur?”

Arthur shook his head, but Merlin kept going. 

“You want me to rescind my father’s laws. To be a better man than him. But what if I didn’t? What if I become king but refuse to do what you want of me? What would you do then?”

A test. It was a test. He wanted to lie. But he knew it would be a grave mistake. Even if the truth was not what either of them wanted. 

“Then I would be… disappointed. I have watched the man you have become, Merlin. From the uncertain, unassertive boy I met, to the bravest man I’ve ever known. I believe in the man you have become. In the future you can create. You ask me what I would do if you choose not to rescind your father’s laws, and the truth is that I do not know. But what I do know is that I would never have to find out. Because you are not, nor have you ever been, your father. You have more honor by half than he ever has. He lets his fear rule him. You never will. I have faith in the man you are. The man you have become.”

Merlin shook his head, sorrow lacing his every pore. 

“No. No, you’re wrong. I’m weak. Pathetic. I am nothing, Arthur. I can’t do what you want. I will fail. I will let this kingdom down. I know it. I- Arthur-”

Merlin closed his eyes, shaking his head. Arthur lifted a hand and gently grasped Merlin’s cheek, rubbing soft circles under his eye. Merlin opened his eyes and looked at him with eyes that shone. It broke Arthur’s heart. 

“No. I don’t think I am wrong. In fact, I think you’re the one who is wrong, Merlin. Can’t have everything, I suppose,” he joked, smiling, hoping the adoration he felt could be seen. “You are the greatest man I’ve ever met. You are the future of Camelot. Not me. My destiny is by your side. Always. Forever. And, to answer your question, if you did decide to not rescind your father’s laws? If you kept them for... I don’t know, whatever reason?”

Arthur paused, looking Merlin dead in the eyes. He could see the prince stop breathing, saw the way he stared at Arthur, desperation plain on his face. His next words he uttered would mean more than any other. He had to make them count. 

“Well. Then I would still stand by you. For you are my destiny. Not Camelot. Not being king. You, Merlin. You brave, reckless, stupid man. I would stand beside you, no matter what. Knowing that, whatever choice you make, it is one that you feel is right. Is just. And I trust you enough to follow your decision. Even if I pray you’d make a different one.”

Christ. Merlin looked like he was about to cry. That hadn’t been Arthur’s intention. Before he could do anything other than make a noise of concern, Merlin laughed, wetly. 

“You really mean that don’t you?” He questioned, looking at Arthur with what appeared to be wonder in his expression. Arthur kept his face steady, smiling softly as he nodded once. He did. He didn’t think he’d have anything to worry about, though. Merlin was a good man. The greatest. 

Merlin laughed again, lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Arthur shifted so he could lie on his back as well, the back of his hand brushing the back of Merlin’s. He wanted to grasp the appendage but didn’t want to overwhelm the other. He seemed to need some space. 

“Thank you, Arthur,” Merlin murmured minutes later, turning his head to face Arthur. Arthur faced him, shrugging as he did so, a soft, cocksure smile on his face. 

“Of course. And you should believe me, you know. I’m an excellent judge of character. You should be honored to be appraised so highly by one such as myself,” he boasted, hoping to get a laugh. His hopes were rewarded when he heard Merlin laugh, rich and bell-like, as beautiful as always. 

“Oh, Arthur. Never change.”

“Don’t plan on it, my prince.”

Merlin laughed again, smiling at him softly. Happily. It made Arthur’s heart sing. He’d done that. He’d brought that smile back. He felt like he could do anything as long as he could see that grin. 

“It should have been you, you know,” Merlin mused, looking at him curiously. Arthur just gave him a confused look, prompting Merlin to continue. “Who was the prince. And I the servant. My father saw it. Well, saw me as the servant. He hadn’t seen my face, but something in him knew it was me. The serving boy to a prince. That would have been you, had he not made his changes. He robbed you of your throne. Does that not anger you?”

Arthur thought on it for a second before shaking his head. He’d come to that decision a long time before. Merlin looked distressed at the thought, though, so he tried to lighten the mood again. 

“Nah. Honestly, probably for the better. Can you imagine, me, a prince? Ha! I’d be terrible. Too much bloody pride.”

Merlin laughed at that, nodding in agreement. 

“Oh, definitely, yeah. I can imagine it now. You’d be the biggest prat. All demanding and needy. You’d always be barking orders at me. ‘ _Mer_ lin’ this, ‘ _Mer_ lin’ that. I’d never have any peace! You already boss me around enough as it is. You’d be a nightmare as a prince.”

Arthur gasped at that in mock offense, getting up into a half lean, facing Merlin with his left arm supporting his weight. Merlin looked to be struggling to keep his amusement contained, though a hint of that sadness still remained in his eyes. Arthur made it his solemn quest to get that look out of the prince’s eyes, no matter the cost. It didn’t matter if it took a thousand years, he’d remove that sorrow from those ancient eyes. Even if it was the last thing he did. 

“How rude! I’d be a wonderful prince, what are you talking about? You’d be glad for the honor to serve someone so noble and just. In fact, the whole kingdom would be proud to have such a fair and wondrous prince.”

He said it with levity and humor, meaning the words to be a lark. For some reason, though, they just made Merlin look sadder. More burdened. Shit. That wasn’t what he wanted. 

“They would. And I would. To serve you. That’s how it should have been. Not this. From the minute I met you, I knew it. You… you stood above me, so gallant and noble. You looked majestic. Part of me hated that about you. You made it look so easy. So natural. Everything I strived so hard to be, you achieved like it was nothing. Your friends adore you, following you regardless of status. People flock to you. You’re everything a prince is. Everything I’m not. I could never hope to be half the man you are.”

Arthur shook his head, leaning closer to Merlin, wanting him to see how false he was. Arthur was just joking. He’d be an awful prince. Too proud and stubborn. Merlin was kind and fair. He cared so much about his people. They adored him, Arthur could see it so plainly. Why couldn’t Merlin? He wasn’t able to say anything, though, as Merlin shook his head, smiling softly. 

“No, no. It’s alright. I don’t mind. Not anymore. I’ve been so honored, having you these past couple years. I never understood why you would stay. After all I had done. After all my father had done. I didn’t know why you followed me so readily. I know why now, but it had always made me feel… special. Like I mattered. Like maybe… maybe I could be a great king. One day.” 

Merlin stopped and looked up, eyes watery. It hurt Arthur deep inside to see it. Merlin continued before Arthur could say anything. He was beginning to resent that. 

“But I won’t. That honor goes to you. You’ll be the greatest king this world has ever known, Arthur. It’s your destiny. You don’t have to worry if I’ll keep my father’s laws or not. Because I concede my crown to you. I don’t want it. I’ve seen what it does. What it did, to my father. I don’t want it to corrupt me. To turn me into something I never wanted to be. I saw my father turn from a warm and loving man into someone I barely recognize. He was a good man, once. The weight of the crown destroyed him. I don’t want it to destroy me. I’m not strong enough. But you are. I have no doubt about it. You can handle the weight of the crown better than anyone.”

Arthur scoffed at that, but Merlin just nodded earnestly, propping himself up on his right arm, looking at him with imploring eyes. 

“I mean it. I really do. And it’s okay. I… I don’t think I ever really wanted the crown. I’ve always dreaded it. I don’t-“

“I never took you for a coward, Merlin.”

The prince looked at him with shocked eyes, frowning. Arthur rolled his eyes. He’d heard enough. 

“Look. I know things are tough now. But you can’t just give up. Give in. You were born to be the prince. Maybe not originally, maybe not in that other future. But here? In this universe, this world, the only one either of us have ever known? You were born the prince. Not I. And you will be king. I will see no other option. Your people adore you, Merlin. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. You came to my village, helped us defeat those renegade sorcerers, even though you had no real reason to. None other than you are a good man, with a good heart. The crown will never destroy you. I wouldn’t let it. You forget, _Mer_ lin. You’re not alone. Not anymore. I’m here. Beside you. Always.”

Merlin looked at him, eyes shining, mouth popping open. But it was Arthur’s turn to talk, and Merlin, goddamn him, would sure as hell listen. 

“No, you listen, Merlin Emrys. I’ve seen you. All these years I’ve seen you. You say you know now why I follow you, but I still don’t think you do. It wasn’t destiny that made me stay. It was _you_. If I didn’t think you were a man worthy of my loyalty, I’d have left, destiny be damned. You have proven to me, time and time again, the man you are. The king you will be. I am so proud of you, Merlin, you have no idea. I am honored to be in your service. Hell, I force you to make me do more work that you do, because you’re too damn nice to order me around. I can tell you, in that other universe, I would have taken full advantage of our positions,” Arthur laughed, looking at Merlin with as much love as he felt shining in his eyes. He lifted his right hand and brushed the hair back from Merlin’s face, smiling so tenderly it hurt. He let his hand linger, falling from his forehead to his cheek, rubbing it gently again. 

“Don’t you dare doubt yourself, Merlin. Doing so would mean you doubt me. After all, I have put all my faith in you. Do you take me for a fool who’d do something like that all willy-nilly?” 

Merlin laughed, wetly again, and shook his head. He was smiling again, eyes shining. He looked so beautiful it hurt. 

“So, trust yourself. Like I do,” he muttered, leaning in close. He couldn’t help how he looked down at Merlin’s lips, which were pink and pretty and perfect, honestly. They parted slightly as the prince gasped, a soft exhale of breath that made Arthur’s groin tighten. “Now. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d like to kiss you now. May I have such an honor?”

At Merlin’s frantic head nod, Arthur leaned down and kissed those pretty pink lips. And god, was it glorious. 

It wasn’t their first kiss. It wasn’t even their second. But somehow… somehow, it meant more than the others. Deeper. Truer. Purer. It meant everything. It was a promise, he felt. No more secrets. No more lies. No more hiding. They were in this, together. Forever. 

As much as he wanted to keep kissing the prince forever, they had more to discuss. And so, after a moment or two, he pulled back laughing softly at the keen Merlin let out. He gave him another kiss in apology, which turned into another, which turned into another, at which point he had to pull himself away, laughing. Merlin laughed too, which made it all worth it. 

“God. I love you, you know that?” He muttered. He froze a second later, before relaxing. He hadn’t meant to say it, but he did mean it. And he didn’t regret it. He looked over at Merlin, who had frozen and was looking at him with an inscrutable expression. Arthur just stared back, face neutral but eyes shining the love he felt. He didn’t want it to be unspoken anymore. It hurt too much to keep inside. 

“Do you really mean that?” Merlin muttered a second later, wonder lacing his tone. Arthur could only shrug, nodding helplessly. 

“Yeah. I do. Believe me, I tried not to. For months I rejected it. It wasn’t until Gwaine bloody kissed me that I realized how far gone I was for you. And that I wasn’t, you know. Straight. Or, as straight. I still like girls, which confuses me, but whatever. Point is, I like you. Love you, whatever.”

Arthur felt uncomfortable. He always did, expressing feelings, but this... this was not good. He hadn’t meant to bring up bloody Gwaine ( _brilliant, Pendragon. Bring up the man’s former lover, wonderful_ ), but Merlin didn’t seem to mind. He was just looking at him with that bloody wonder. Though a touch of humor entered his eyes at his ungrateful words. 

“‘Or whatever?’ Oh, how eloquent. ‘I love you, or whatever.’ I feel so honored,” he said drily, but he was smiling. Arthur felt mild offense fill him. He was bearing his heart here! 

“Oh, I’d like to see you do better,” he huffed, only half joking. He honestly was starting to feel nervous. He’d born his soul, and yet… well. He tried to hide it with mock offense, hoping his anxiety wasn’t showing. Merlin scoffed, smirking. 

“Yeah, but that would require me returning the feelings, wouldn’t it?”

Oh. Ow. Arthur tried to keep his face neutral, knowing Merlin was only teasing (he was... right?), but had a feeling that some of his hurt bled through when Merlin’s teasing expression melted into a genuine look of fondness and adoration, dopey smile rising on his lips as he looked at Arthur with apology in his eyes. 

“Which I do. Of course, I do. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I didn’t realize it until after that bastard, Valiant, kissed me and made me realize that I wasn’t, you know. Straight. Or as straight. I still like girls, which I find strange. But I do like you. Love you. Or whatever,” Merlin parroted, eyes shining with mirth. Arthur rolled his eyes, even as his heart soared. 

“Hey Merlin, you know what?”

“What?”

“I’ve decided I don’t love you anymore,” he sniffed, looking away in mock offense. Merlin cooed, shuffling closer. 

“Oh, don’t be like that. Besides. You can’t take it back now. I heard you! You admitted it. You ~ _love_ ~ me. Totally bananas. Gaga. Over the moon,” Merlin crooned, grin wide and happy. Arthur tried to look indignant, but it failed as he laughed, happy. Then what Merlin said during his confession processed more than his elation of his love being returned (!!!!) and he narrowed his eyes. 

“Hang on. Wait a second. _Valiant_ , that bastard, fucking _kissed_ you?” 

Was there a spell that could raise the dead so that he could kill the bastard himself? Probably. He’d have to look into that. Merlin laughed, the sound almost seeming startled out of him. 

“You do realize he’s been dead for almost two years now, yeah?”

Arthur grumbled, flopping onto his back, and staring petulantly at the ceiling. Merlin laughed at him. Jerk. 

“Yeah, but still! Wait... so _that’s_ why you looked so spooked coming back. Your lips all red. God. I should have killed him myself.” 

“I assure you, my honor is still intact. It’s Gwaine you should be angry at for defiling me. He certainly did that…” Merlin mused, though his voice faded at the, no doubt devastated, look on Arthur’s face. Merlin grimaced. “Sorry. I just… I don’t know. I’ve been in love with you for so long. But I love Gwaine, too. Even now. I can’t just forget that.” 

Arthur sighed, shrugging. 

“I know. I get it. Part of me still loves Gwen, and always will, I believe. She’s seeing Lancelot, now, and I’m honestly happy for her. That would have destroyed me, once. Now, all I feel is glad that she’s found someone who can love her with all his heart. I fear mine was always destined to belong to another,” he muttered, looking over at Merlin with soft eyes. The other man looked sad, for some reason, making Arthur roll his eyes. “Not that that is a bad thing, mind. I’d never have given this up. Not for anything.”

Silence followed after his statement, Merlin looking down at him with a soft frown on his lips. Arthur just stared calmly back. He didn’t want to spook the man. 

“What are we, then? To each other?” The prince asked, voice cautious. Arthur shrugged, looking at the ceiling. 

“Do we have to name it? We are destined to be together. Forever. We have time to figure all that out. Do you want a name for this? What we are?” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking casually at the prince, even as his heart pounded. Merlin looked conflicted. 

“I don’t really know. On one hand... not really. This, what we have... it’s nice. Easy. Everything is so hard, so very hard. Even now, I’m worried that I’m wasting precious time. I don’t want more to have to worry about. However… on the other hand, I want to know. What we are. Gwaine and I, we never named what we had. We just… did it. I regret that, a little. Now.” 

Merlin shrugged, looking down, almost like he was ashamed. Arthur let out a soft sound and lifted his hand, grasping Merlin’s cheek again. He was doing that a lot, he noticed absently. It wasn’t his fault. Merlin just had touchable looking cheeks. 

“We can be whatever we want to be. Name ourselves whatever means the most. Boyfriends. Lovers. Significant others. Friends plus. Whatever word you want to use for it, it doesn’t matter. Not to me, not really. It won’t change what we feel. Does it?” 

He said it softly. Meaningfully. His insides were squirming at the emotional conversation, but he knew this mattered. Knew it was important to Merlin. He could handle a little discomfort to put Merlin’s mind at ease. Merlin look down at him and shook his head. 

“No. I suppose not,” he mused, smiling softly back. “Would you want that, though? For us to be... you know. Lovers?” 

Arthur laughed, Merlin’s voice somehow both earnest and timid. It was funny. He could see hurt rising in Merlin’s eyes, so he sobered quickly, though he couldn’t hide his smile. 

“I would want nothing more. But I think we should wait. Not forever. Just a bit. I’ve never... you know. Done anything. With anyone,” he admitted, blushing brightly. It was Merlin’s turn to laugh, grin teasing as he shifted, still leaning on his arm, though he was starting to shake. He needed to gain more muscle, Arthur thought, despairing. 

“Oh, and we wouldn’t want to defile the fair maiden’s virtue, after all,” he teased, laughing even as Arthur threw a pillow at him, finally knocking him down. Merlin was still chuckling as he settled on his back, face turned towards Arthur, softly smiling. It was so tender it made him ache. 

“You are such an arse, you know that?”

“A pain in the arse, you mean?”

Arthur looked at Merlin in confusion, not understanding why the man was grinning, like he’d said a fantastic joke. Then he remembered what Gaius had told him about sex between men, and his eyes grew wide, his cheeks flushing red. He shot up, pointing a stern finger at Merlin. 

“We are _not_ doing that. How would it even work? It sounds bloody painful, dear god…” he muttered, leaning back against the headboard, Merlin following suit. The man was cackling now, smiling cheekily at him. 

“It’s actually quite enjoyable,” the man mused, smile sharp. Arthur glared at him. “What? It is.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, huffing as he crossed his arms. 

“Regardless, I still think we should wait. Until this all is over. Besides. You’re not supposed to be… well, _intimate_ until marriage. That’s what mother always said.”

Arthur didn’t like the way Merlin was staring at him, like he was mad. What? It was true! Just because _Mer_ lin had jumped into the first warm bed available to him didn’t mean Arthur had to. He felt bad the second after thinking it. He didn’t blame Merlin, nor did he judge him for it. Gwaine was a charming man, and before his letter, he’d been surprisingly good for the prince. He understood. He didn’t have to like it, though. It made him burn with jealousy. He hated it. 

“I mean. Alright. I never thought it mattered, much. I mean, it’s already considered bad, being with a man. But we don’t have to do anything you don’t want. We’ve got time. Hopefully,” Merlin muttered, shrugging. That reminded Arthur of their other problems. He sighed, hitting his head against the headboard lightly. 

“Yeah. We should talk, though. About what we plan to do about that. The war, I mean. And all that. But not now,” he added, as Merlin stiffened, like a weight had been placed on his shoulders, his eyes shuttering. “Now, let us just rest. It’s been a long night. A long week. Let’s just rest, for now. We can worry about the future later.”

Merlin stared at him for a long moment before nodding. 

“There’s more I wanted to ask. How long you’ve known? Who else knows, beside Gaius? What else the Dragon has told you? But that can wait. Let’s just… rest. Gaius always said a man needs his rest.”

Nodding, Arthur laid back down, on his side. Merlin followed, facing him. Arthur put his arms around the man, pulling him close. As much as he liked holding Merlin each night, sleeping on his back wasn’t something he liked doing all that much. He preferred his stomach or side. 

This was nice, he found, pulling Merlin close as they lied on their sides. After a few minutes, Merlin turned away, his back slotting so perfectly in the space between Arthur’s arms. Arthur held tight, his nose pressed lightly against Merlin’s neck, breathing in the comforting scent. 

“Get some sleep,” he muttered, kissing the soft skin before his mouth gently. Merlin shuddered but nodded. 

“You too, Arthur. Get some sleep. We can talk about all this when we wake,” the prince muttered, squirming back a little to get further in Arthur’s warmth. His eyes began to feel heavy at the words, a yawn escaping his lips. Thank god for their bond. 

“Love you,” he muttered, eyes closing and his mind shutting down. He heard a slight hitch of breathing, Merlin grabbing the hand that was currently resting over the man’s heart and twining their fingers together. It didn’t seem the most comfortable position for the man, but he didn’t seem to mind. And Arthur was quickly losing consciousness as his restless night and Merlin’s command caught up to him. 

He liked to think, as he drifted off, that he heard Merlin mutter something softly to him. Something that made him smile. 

“I love you, too.” 


	27. The Trouble With Morgana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> So, this chapter gave me sooo much trouble when I first wrote it. The next chapter, too. I actually completely rewrote the ending of this chapter, since I had originally put in a plot point that I realized worked A LOT better nearer to the end of the story. Here it... would have not worked well. 
> 
> Anyway, you may be able to tell through the writing that I was a bit frustrated while writing this and the next chapter, aha. I had even considered just cutting this entire sequence, as it felt so pointless and filler, but doing so would get rid of some small details that appear later. And a lot does get done in both chapters, so it's fine, but I was just vert frustrated, I recall. Also, I got to introduce one of my favorite side characters, Iseldir! I love that dude, honestly. 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, everyone!! I truly do appreciate them and it makes me feel a lot better about this story. 
> 
> Before I get into the chapter, I did want to bring something up, though, that I keep forgetting to ask! So, a few chapters ago, someone brought up the idea of me turning the whole Merlin, Arthur, Gwaine thing into, like... a poly relationship. I'm not opposed to the idea, given how I've written the three, but I've never been a fan of poly relationships in fics and I know others feel that way, too. Since this story is mostly done, I would only add this into the last chapter and the epilogue, but I have a few options on how it could be done. 1. It is explicitly stated that they are together in the epilogue. 2. It is hinted in the epilogue that they are together, but nothing too overt. 3. I write it in a separate one-shot fic that can be ignored if you, personally, don't want to see it. Or I can just not put anything about them at all. Any of these options is fine with me, since this story is mostly for all of y'all at this point. [Click here](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfJHrMASs1eNQ9Yq9A8RQV1e9FI_nE1ud2B5HdxadUaPqzSyQ/viewform?usp=sf_link) to find a Google survey about the options and which one you'd prefer! I will go with whatever the highest picked choice is. You can also comment on this chapter with your opinion, if you'd prefer! 
> 
> Enjoy!

The report Merlin was staring at made his heart clench, his breath quickening. He had to hide the reaction the best he could, his father staring at him with an inscrutable expression. Merlin looked up, face neutral. 

“Two hundred civilian casualties,” Merlin intoned, trying to keep the judgement out of his voice. When he’d arrived at the war room, twenty minutes before, his father had stiffened. But he had no real right to kick Merlin out. He was crown prince. Unless he wanted to show the generals that they were fighting with one another, weakening their bond, they had to pretend nothing was wrong. Even though something very much was. 

The king shook his head, eyes hard. 

“It’s better than every townsperson. We were able to evacuate the majority,” his father claimed. The majority, Merlin’s wanted to rejoin, was not the entirety. But he didn’t. 

“We still lost three hundred soldiers on top of that. They lost barely a hundred. Our magic is useless against them! Even magic fire and dragons! It all gets repelled. All of it. How can we fight an enemy that knows how to use traditional weapons when our one form of defense is useless against them?”

The king scowled, taking the report from Merlin, and handing it to a general. 

“We find a way to counter their anti-magic spell. No magic cannot be countered, no matter how strong. That is why I’m sending you to the south, to the cave of Xador. There are rumors of great magical artifacts hidden within. With any luck, we’ll find something that can counter their magic.”

Merlin scoffed, even as his father turned away, dismissal clear. 

“Oh, and I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact you are trying to send me away?” He rejoined, frustration mounting. His father turned angry eyes at him but kept his face neutral. He couldn’t afford to lose control, not here. Not when they were at war. The citadel was still on lockdown, with siege preparations beginning to be made, just in case. Merlin had informed his father of all he’d seen in the tent, about Uther’s plans and the locations marked on the map. Merlin had a feeling that the locations would be useless now, but it still gave them some clue about the rebel’s strategy. His father had gone deathly pale when Merlin had told him about Uther’s desired method of revenge. He’d considered not telling the man but knew it would be worse in the end if he withheld any information. 

Merlin was also feeling very on edge around his father. After he’d woken up, earlier that afternoon, he and Arthur had spoken about more serious issues. How long Arthur had known their destiny (“since the third week,” Arthur had admitted sheepishly. Merlin had rolled his eyes, ignoring the small spark of betrayal, and had moved on), what else the Dragon told him (“not bloody much! He’s so cryptic. He wants us to free him though. Said if we don’t, we’ll lose this war.” Merlin had been very tempted by that, but they didn’t have much time, so he’d pushed it aside for the moment and moved on), and, most importantly, who else knew. 

That one made his heart stop, eyes wary on his father. Because Arthur had told him, hesitation on his face, that he had a feeling that the king knew. How the king had threatened him (which made his blood boil) but had said he wouldn’t kill him. But that he also refused to back down and make it easy on them. As long as the man had breath in his body, he’d fight against Uther Pendragon’s reign. Merlin knew that much. 

So, he wasn’t sure where he stood with his father. The man clearly didn’t trust him. The feeling was, unfortunately, mutual. His father had a steady head, was usually calm and rational, but anything dealing with the future he’d seen made him jittery and terrified. He’d hide it with anger and bluster, but Merlin could see the truth. Could see the fear deep in the heart of his father. The desperation in his plans and proposed attacks. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Merlin could only hope that fact didn’t kill them all. 

“I think you forget your place, boy,” his father replied, voice dark. Merlin squared his jaw and held his head high. His crown shifted on his head, but he didn’t pay it any mind. It didn’t matter. “I am your king. You have no right to question me. Do as I say, or else I’ll send you back to the dungeons until you learn some respect.”

Merlin clenched his jaw, wanting to say so much. To say that he didn’t want to be his father’s enemy, so stop making him one. To say that he knew his place, he just no longer cared. So many words bubbled up in his chest, but he mercilessly pushed them down. It wasn’t time to argue. 

Instead, he nodded tensely and exited the room. He headed down to the stables, Arthur hot on his heels, the man having been waiting for him patiently outside the war room. Arthur got their horses ready while Merlin looked at the map that he’d grabbed on his way out, plotting their path to the cave of Xador. It was as far out of the way as possible. Of course. At least his father wasn’t lying. There were rumors that it contained powerful artifacts, but he had no idea if it’d contain the one that they’d need. He had asked Gaius, earlier, if he’d heard of an artifact that completely repelled all magical attacks, even things like magical fire, but Gaius had simply shaken his head, shrugging. 

Once their horses were ready, they entered the courtyard, Merlin feeling frustration build in him when he saw half of his Mages readying up to leave. He approached Iseldir, his second in command, and asked why they were there. Iseldir paused, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“The king has commanded we go with you, for protection. Do you object, my prince?”

Merlin hid the scowl on his face and just shrugged. Iseldir was a good man. He’d been a Druid leader, before, and had saved Merlin’s life more than once. He never even seemed offended to follow Merlin, a boy half his age, accepting his orders with grace and dignity. Merlin had always liked that about the man. However, whenever not using honorifics, the Druid always called him by his family name. It had surprised him, at first, but he had accepted it. Many Druids called him Emrys, so it wasn’t surprising. 

“No, it’s fine. It’s just a journey to the southern borders, though. I didn’t think I’d need any protection.”

Iseldir inclined his head, shrugging lightly. 

“Likely not, my prince, but it is always good to be prepared. These are troubled times. The Druids has many legends about such artifacts as the one the rebel leader is using, though none are helpful in identifying it, I’m afraid.”

Merlin paused at that, looking at the man strangely. He always forgot the legends the Druids had. He’d never spent much time around the people, not as much as he probably should. 

“What do the legends say?”

“As I said, not much. Just that there was a powerful device that could block all magic, no matter how large, from taking any affect. If one used this artifact on another, then they would become immune to magic as well. There are no further telling’s of what the artifact does, or even what the artifact is. Definitely not how to counter it. I am sorry, Emrys.” 

Hm. That was troubling. Perhaps, when he’d returned, he’d ask his father to send missives to the various Druid camps. Knowing the man, the king probably already did so. But the Druids didn’t seem to like his father, much. They always seemed more loyal to Merlin, strangely enough. Maybe they’d be more inclined to speak with him?

“Mage Iseldir, do you think the other Druid camps would know more about the artifact?”

Iseldir inclined his head, shrugging lightly again. 

“It is possible, my prince. Druid knowledge goes back millennia. If any living person knew of such an artifact, a Druid would.”

Merlin hummed, nodding his head slightly. 

“Alright. Perhaps, once we’re done with the cave of Xador, we can visit some of the southern Druid settlements. See if they have anything to say.”

“Of course, my prince. The Druids will be glad to see you, I am sure of it. They will help in any way they can.”

With that, the Mage bowed his head and returned to his horse, mounting the thing. Along with Iseldir, there were about five other Mages, mostly older ones. Morgana was there, too, though, so that was good. At least they had someone to talk to. 

Though… the woman looked distressed. It wasn’t anything outright, he was sure not many would even notice it. But her brow was furrowed, and she had a frown on her face. Hm. That was concerning. 

Leaving Buttercup’s side, Merlin wandered over to Morgana, smiling slightly at the girl. She didn’t seem to notice him, a fact proven when she jolted at his voice. 

“Are you alright, Morgana?” Merlin questioned. He remembered Freya’s worries, and felt bad that he’d done nothing to ensure the sorceress was doing alright. Maybe he could rectify that a little now?

Morgana looked up at him with wide eyes, stuffing something in her pack hastily. Merlin narrowed his eyes but pushed past it. Whatever. He likely just startled her. 

“What?” She asked, laughing nervously. Before he could repeat the question, she waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, yes, I’m fine, Prince Merlin. Just, uh. Tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. Freya’s been upset about something and it’s making things a bit tense. That’s all.”

Merlin looked at her for a long second. _She’s lying_ , he thought, but decided to put it out of mind. He’d talk to Arthur about it. He knew the woman better than Merlin did. He’d know if she’s was acting odd or if this was normal for her. 

He nodded, then, and smiled softly at her. He clasped her shoulder steadily, meaning to be comforting, but it just made the woman flinch. Hm. This was concerning him more than it likely should. Still, he shook it off. For the moment. He had more things to worry about, sadly. She was likely just as nervous as everyone else about the rebellion. 

“Okay, Morgana. Let me know if you need anything, alright? You’re practically family, now. Freya’s concerned and I am too. If anything, or anyone, is bugging you, don’t hesitate to tell me. I’ll do everything in my power to make it better.”

He smiled at her, and she returned it with a brittle one. She nodded though, looking back towards her pack a second later. 

“I’ll keep that in my, my prince. I’m fine though. Don’t worry.”

With that, Merlin walked away, though he felt unease fill him. He remembered his father talk about a traitor that they still hadn’t found, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. He trusted Morgana. Freya loved her, as did Arthur (though he’d deny it), which was enough for him. Like he’d said. She was practically family. And while he didn’t much trust his father much at the moment, well… hm.

Whatever. It didn’t matter. He headed back to Buttercup, Arthur readying his own horse. Merlin looked around and headed over to Arthur, his hand brushing the man’s lower back gently. He removed it a second later, but it did his intended effects of making Arthur shudder deliciously. Merlin smirked as the man turned to him, annoyance in his eyes. 

“What?” The servant muttered, rolling his eyes. Oh, he could act as grouchy as he wanted. Merlin knew where his heart lied (!!!!!).

“What, can’t see how my unspecified other half is doing?” He muttered back, grinning. Arthur shook his head but couldn’t help how he smiled. 

“People will see,” he returned, looking pointedly at the guard not even ten feet away. Merlin shrugged. 

“It’s not a crime to talk to my manservant, is it? Besides, it’s not like father doesn’t know.” He was proud of himself. His voice was only a touch bitter. Instead of replying, Arthur just hummed, frowning slightly. Figuring there was no time like the present, Merlin decided to bring up his worries about Morgana to the man. 

“Actually, though, I did have something to ask you. Have you spoken to Morgana recently?”

Arthur looked at him like he’d gone mad. 

“No. Why on earth would I want to do that? She’s a soulless harpy.”

Merlin rolled his eyes in exasperation. Arthur professed hatred towards Morgana, but Merlin knew he adored the girl and would do anything for her. They were siblings, after all. He understood. He wasn’t even blood related to Freya and he’d move mountains for her. 

“Right, right, just like how you can’t stand me-”

“That’s also true,” Arthur interjected. Merlin ignored him and plowed right on. 

“Anyway. I’m being serious. Freya came to me a couple weeks ago about some concerns she was having with Morgana. Apparently, she’s been growing distant, even from Freya. She doesn’t talk, is withdrawn… I’ve noticed the same thing. When I asked her to help me interview the servants, she looked so upset, and her reports were lackluster, at best. I think this whole thing is bothering her, but I don’t know how to make it better. There’s so much on my plate, and I don’t know her all that well, outside of work. Do you think you could talk to her? For me? She is your sister,” he pointed out, making Arthur roll his eyes. Merlin could see the concern rising in the blue depths, however, his brows furrowing. 

“It’s probably nothing. She gets like this sometimes, about things that matter to her. She feels things so deeply. Mother called it a strength of hers. I always found it bloody annoying, as she usually got like this about some prank my friends and I would pull. But I can talk to her if it makes you feel better. Though if she’s not talking to Freya, I’d doubt she’d talk to me. We’ve never been super close, after all.” 

Merlin knew that was a bit of a lie. He and Morgana were far closer than they made it out to seem. Honestly, if there were anyone the woman would talk to, Merlin had a feeling it would be Arthur. There were just some things you could tell family that you couldn’t tell anyone else. Not even your own lover.

Merlin didn’t push it, though. If Arthur wanted to profess disinterest in his sister, Merlin wouldn’t counter him. Instead, Merlin headed back to Buttercup and gave her a nice pat on the rump, before mounting. Buttercup whinnied as he did so, shaking her head with a snort. Merlin smiled. He adored the horse. She’d been a gift from his father when he’d turned ten. She was his most loyal friend. After all, she never teased him like Freya or Arthur did. She just asked for treats and loved him despite his flaws. 

Soon after, the rest of the party mounted their steeds, and then they were off. 

It would take a handful of days to head to cave, as far south as it was. Luckily, the path was pretty straight forward, barring a couple times they’d have to trek through the woods. It shouldn’t be too challenging. There were also a handful of Druid settlements nearby, so he could talk with them once this goose chase was over with. 

For it was a goose chase. His father sent the Mages and a handful of guards (loyal to his father, not him, like most of Mages were) to prevent Merlin from doing anything other than his task. The king wanted him out of the way. Well, fine. That didn’t mean he couldn’t do some actual work while going. And who knew. Maybe Xador hid some neat treasures. It would take a complicated spell to open the ruin, but Merlin was confident he would be able to figure it out. He was a smart man. 

They rode all day, stopping only once for lunch. They were about a third of the way there when Merlin insisted that they make camp, the sun setting and a chill entering the air. It was luckily not raining, the sun shining and the grass nice and green. Still, the nights could get bitterly cold, so making camp earlier would be best. They dismounted their horses and got their sleep rolls set up. Merlin forwent the tent that he would sometimes bring when the weather was poor, instead just laying his sleep roll on the ground a decent distance from the fire Arthur was building. Done, Merlin headed to the fire and lit it with a quick spell. Arthur rolled his eyes and put his flint and steel away. 

“I could have done that, you know,” the servant groused, crossing his arms with a huff. Merlin laughed. If they were alone, he’d kiss the look off the man’s face. It made his heart race that that would actually have been a thing he was allowed to do, if only they were alone. Instead, Merlin bumped his shoulder against Arthur’s, letting it linger as he snickered. 

“Oh, I have no doubt in you, Arthur,” he said, only have teasing. Arthur smiled softly at him, pressing back against his shoulder. He moved away a moment later as the man started preparing their dinner. Merlin wanted to help, but knew the man was very particular about his cooking, the man decent at it (really good at some things, his mother having taught him, while less good at others). He’d learned it was best to just watch as the servant mixed food together, creating a delectable meal every time. It may not have been as good as Cook’s, definitely not as good as Lady Ygraine’s (who Merlin agreed was the best cook in all Camelot, and honestly considered hiring the woman once he was king. He was very fond of Cook, though, the woman having been hired when he was seven. Oh, how he had tormented the poor woman. He was sure Cook was fond of him, though she’d once threatened that if he stole anymore cookies without his father’s permission, she wouldn’t be afraid to use her spoon on his thieving fingers. It had made him giggle, even when the woman had waved her spoon menacingly. She never meant it. She always gave him extra sweets when she saw him, winking as she told him not to tell his father.)

Well, he was digressing. The point was, Arthur was a good cook. Not the best, but good. Certainly, better than him. Merlin had never cooked a single thing in his life. He had a feeling he’d burn anything he tried to make. Horribly. He used to do that with the potions Gaius would have him create, until he’d gotten a hang on it. 

It was interesting to watch the man, he had to say, soft smile on his lips as he stared at the look of concentration on Arthur’s face. He looked so serious. Like he was going over battle plans, not what ingredient to put in the stew. Arthur was always like that. So serious about everything, even little things. He loved that about the man. He loved a lot about the man if he was being honest. So much, he didn’t have the words to express it. He hoped Arthur could see. 

“You’re staring,” Arthur muttered, giving him a side eye with a smug smirk. Merlin looked around, making sure no one was looking, before sticking his tongue out. Arthur snickered, stirring the pot a few times before adding some green stuff. Basil, perhaps? 

“What, is it a crime to stare at my utterly gorgeous manservant now?” He muttered back, voice so low that he wasn’t sure Arthur could hear it. The way his ears turned red indicated he did, as did the look of heat the man sent his way. 

“You’re distracting me. Do you want me to burn dinner?”

Merlin tutted, shrugging. 

“And here I was, thinking you were a good cook,” he pouted, shaking his head sadly. “I’m disappointed that a little staring would make you burn food. What a shame, Arthur. What a shame.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, showing him a rude gesture. Merlin fake gasped, holding a hand to his heart. He looked around again to make sure the others were still preoccupied. They were. Good. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Arthur groused. 

“You wound me, Arthur. Well and truly.” 

The men bantered back and forth for a few minutes, until the others finished setting up camp and sat around the campfire. While the fire blazed bright, Merlin felt colder without Arthur’s lighthearted banter to keep him warm. Luckily, the man elected to sit beside him, sharing a secret smile with him as he did so. 

Though… perhaps it wasn’t so secret, he worried, when Iseldir raised his eyebrows at the pair, looking between them with a glance. He didn’t say anything, though, just smiled softly and raised his glass at the two in acknowledgment. Hm. Alright then. 

Dinner went by smoothly, the Mages chatting lightly, Merlin joining in and joking around. Morgana sat by herself, hunched over as she ate the stew. Merlin could see Arthur casting worried glances at her, meeting Merlin’s eye once and frowning. Merlin shrugged, like ‘see, I told you,’ but said nothing about it. Arthur rolled his eyes but didn’t stop his fretting. Mother hen, honestly. 

After dinner was finished, the Mages and guards settled in for bed, though Merlin elected to, silently, head after Arthur to ‘help’ (more like stand around uselessly) with the cleaning up. Iseldir saw him go, he was sure, but the man didn’t say anything, so Merlin didn’t worry about it. The Mage was a good sort. He trusted him. 

“Are you going to actually help this time, or just stare at me while I do all the work?”

Merlin pouted, disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to sneak up on Arthur. The man gave him an unimpressed look, scrubbing the bowl in the stream they had found earlier. Merlin shrugged. 

“I dunno. I kind of like watching you clean. It’s so… manly,” he teased, winking. Arthur scowled, throwing the wet dish towel at Merlin’s head. Ignoring his indignant ‘hey!’ Arthur pulled out another one and continued scrubbing. 

“Either make yourself useful or head back to bed. I’ve no use for layabouts.”

“God, so bossy. I’d hate to see you as a prince,” Merlin shuddered. The thought was dreadful. Oh, yes. Arthur would be a wonderful leader. But he’d be a terror to those he considered friends. He had no doubt about it. 

“I’d be fantastic,” Arthur sniffed, scrubbing harder. Merlin rolled his eyes and grabbed a bowl himself and set about scrubbing. He’d never done it before, but he figured it was pretty simple. Just remove all the grime, yeah?

“I bet you’d never clean anything if you were the prince,” he rejoined, rolling his eyes. He finished the bowl and was about to put it aside when Arthur tutted and grabbed it. What?! He’d done just what Arthur had done!

“I’d likely do a better job than you are. Honestly, _Mer_ lin. Bowls have two sides. An inside and an outside. Scrub both.”

Oh. Oops. Merlin blushed red as he noticed he’d missed some stew on the outside of the bowl. In his defense, who got stew on the outside of a bowl?! Now that was just messy. 

Scowling in annoyance, Merlin grabbed another bowl and made sure to scrub it fully clean. He held it up for inspection with a flourish, ready to bash Arthur over the head with it when the man looked close, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the job. Eventually the man nodded sagely, like he’d found the job pleasing. God. What a prat. 

“Better. You’ve still got much to learn, though.”

“It’s cleaning a bowl! It’s not like it’s a sacred art.”

Arthur shook his head, fighting a smile as he tried to look solemn. 

“You don’t understand, Merlin. You’ll never know the Ancient Ways of Bowl Cleaning. I feel sorry for you. I truly do.”

If it weren’t freezing, Merlin would be tempted to push the man in the river. As it was, he splashed the servant, making him yelp at the cold. They got into a splashing fight then, like a pair of toddlers, before Merlin cried mercy as Arthur held a bowl full of water over his head. The man looked so smug, though, that Merlin couldn’t help how he used a spell to splash a steady stream of water into Arthur’s face. Since it was conjured water, he was merciful enough to make it pleasantly warm. 

Arthur still spluttered and glared bloody murder at Merlin, but he put down the bowl and continued cleaning the bowl. Hang on. That gave Merlin an idea. 

With a whispered spell, Merlin watched in amusement as the rest of the bowls began dancing around, like they were alive, dipping under the water. The rags Arthur and Merlin had been using flew through the air and started scrubbing the bowls without any prompting. Merlin grinned at the sight, even as Arthur gave him a look of contempt. 

“You could have done that, all this time, and yet you willingly sat around and let me clean bowl after bowl for you? You are the biggest fucking prat-“ 

“Cleaning gives a man character, Arthur!” He chimed in, cutting off Arthur’s angry tirade, grinning widely. Arthur didn’t say anything, just pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and huffed. Soon, the bowls were all clean and they were able to head back to the camp. Arthur was still sulking, though, so before they went, Merlin walked up to Arthur and put his arms around him, pouting dramatically. 

“Aw, don’t be like that, love. Give us a kiss,” he crooned, puckering his lips dramatically. Arthur laughed, though he pressed a hand to Merlin’s face, pushing him away forcefully. Not enough to be painful, though. He didn’t dislodge him, though, Merlins arms still tight around the man’s waist.

“Oh, fuck off. You prat,” he groused, though his arms wound around Merlin’s waist, pulling him closer. Merlin rested his head on Arthur’s broad chest, humming softly. He muttered a soft spell and felt as his body dried from the water. Merciful man he was, he muttered the spell again, this time directed towards Arthur, who sighed as the chill the water brought faded. Arthur squeezed him tighter in thanks. 

“I think you might be right about Morgana. She looked upset earlier,” the man mumbled, nuzzling his hair. Merlin nodded absently. 

“I told you. You should talk to her. We should have time sometime over the next few days. We’re all stuck together, after all.”

Arthur hummed, still holding him tight. The men stood like that for several more minutes, until Merlin backed away, smiling apologetically. 

“We should head back. Don’t want anyone looking for us.”

Arthur nodded, but before he let go, he gave Merlin a soft kiss, making Merlin moan and deepen the thing. The feeling of Arthur’s tongue against his, a bit clumsy yet still so achingly amazing… hm. It was nice. He did have to pull back after a minute, still looking apologetic. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, pulling back. Arthur just sighed and nodded. Merlin couldn’t help grabbing Arthur’s hand, squeezing it tight as he made his way back through the rapidly darkening forest. He let go before they reached the camp, which was fairly easy to find. 

As he lied down to sleep, he had a minute to mourn the loss of Arthur’s heat surrounding him. 

His sleep was restless and when he woke, he felt strangely bereaved. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Arthur looked at his sister, typical frustration rising in him. 

The woman was looking resolutely away, fiddling with her bag as she tried (and failed!) to look innocent. 

“Morgana. I’ve known you since you were a little six-year-old brat. Don’t think you can hide something from me,” he warned, crossing his arms. Morgana rolled her eyes, giving him A Look. 

It had been three days since Merlin had brought up his concerns about Morgana. Three days in which Arthur had tried, really had tried, to corner the woman for a talk. 

And yet it was proving impossible. 

Every time. Every single time he was able to manage to catch her alone, she somehow found a way to slip off. The first was to say she had to go relieve herself. The second was because she ‘hadn’t heard him calling, sorry Arthur.’ By the third, he’d stopped listening to the excuses. Because it was clear to him.

Morgana was avoiding him. 

They were nearly at their goose cave, as Arthur called it. Merlin was annoyed at the task, knowing it was only to keep him away from the castle, but unable to ignore a direct order from the king. It annoyed Arthur, too, as it prevented them from planning against his father. They were cut off from the castle out here, not wanting to give away their position by sending a message. Not even counting the rebels, there were whole hosts of unsavory people out along the roads and in the woods. They had no idea what was happening in the castle at all, whatsoever. It was frustrating. 

Made more frustrating by the fact his sister was avoiding him. 

He’d finally, _finally_ managed to corner her when they’d stopped for lunch. She’d gone off to relieve herself and he (despite his reservations) had followed her. Not that he looked! God. He’d gagged at the very thought. But he was able to catch her on her way back to camp, far enough away that no one could hear her scream. Great. Now he sounded like a murderer. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Arthur. The only problem I have is that I have a disgusting peeping Tom as a brother. Now, I would like to head back to camp if that’s the same to you?”

Morgana pushed past him at that, but Arthur was fed up. Knowing it would likely get him hexed, he grabbed Morgana’s arm, ignoring her indignant yelp. 

“Morgana. Stop. I’m your brother. And, for god knows what reason, I actually care about you. A little. Sometimes,” he amended, pushing on when Morgana rolled her eyes, trying to pull away. She hadn’t hexed him yet, so that was good. “But! I’m not ashamed to say that I’m, well. Worried. You’re not acting like yourself. You’re withdrawn. Not talking to anyone. Merlin says that even Freya is concerned, that you’re not talking to her. You adore her. I’ve never seen you so in love. This isn’t like you. So please. Talk to me.”

He kept his voice soft, imploring. For all of his bluster, he did love Morgana. She was his big sister, after all. They’d never been emotionally close, the pair rather more prone to bickering and fighting, but there had been times when they’d been close. Like the time Arthur had been legitimately heartbroken when he’d first seen Gwen kiss Lancelot, when he’d been sixteen. Morgana had placed her arm around his shoulder and let him lean his head against her head, telling him it would be okay. Or the times that Morgana had had her worst nightmares, screaming so loud it made his chest ache, holding her until she calmed. So, while they’d never been the closest pair, they did care about one another. 

He watched as Morgana hesitated, looking down, face conflicted. He could see she was internally debating, so he tried to make his case better. 

“You’re my sister, Morgana. I love you. Whatever is bothering you, whatever is hurting you, I swear I’ll listen. I won’t tease you, even. You’re not alone. I’m here. Please.”

Morgana cracked at that, looking at him sorrowfully. 

“I can’t, Arthur. You’d hate me,” she muttered, tears gathering in her eyes. Wow. It had been a while since he’d last seen her cry. She had always been much more emotional than him, but she tried to keep her tears to herself. Around him, at least. Arthur shook his head, shushing her as he pulled her into a hug. 

“Don’t be daft. I could never hate you. If I could forgive you setting fire to my favorite stuffed pig, Sir Piggles, then I can forgive you anything.”

Morgana let out a surprised laugh at that, nodding. It was a well-known source of contention between the pair, when Morgana had thrown his favorite stuffed pig in the fireplace when he’d been ten. He’d always professed to be too old for such nonsense, but it had hurt him deeply to watch the pig burst into flames. His mother had had to hold him back to prevent him from running into the flames to grab it. It had been one of the only things he had left from his father, his mother saying the man had given it to him when he’d been born. He hadn’t forgiven Morgana for destroying the thing for months. He didn’t even remember why she’d done it. He’d likely annoyed her, or ruined one of her hairbrushes, probably. Point was, he had eventually forgiven her, when she’d sincerely apologized and admitted that she hadn’t known father had gifted him the thing. So, nothing was too big that he couldn’t forgive the girl eventually, he felt. 

Still, Morgana said nothing, just leaned against his chest. After a minute, she sighed, pulling back with distant eyes. 

“I’m just... I’m just worried, Arthur. This war. My visions…” she trailed off. Hm. So she had been having more visions, despite what she’d told him. He had figured. “It’s our father. The rebel leader. But you already know that. You… you met him, didn’t you?”

Arthur nodded carefully, looking at the girl warily. He knew she had a complicated opinion about their shared father. On one hand, she had always resented the man, for betraying Gorlois, who had raised her as his own for the first ten years of her life. On the other, she had always felt, like he had, the desire to meet the man. To know what he was like. To see if they took after him at all, or if they were more like their respective mothers. He had no idea what she’d feel, knowing he had met their father while she hadn’t. 

She didn’t seem upset, though. Just… troubled. 

“What did you... what did you think of him?”

Hm. Odd question. Maybe not entirely odd, as it made sense, but it was strange that that was the first question she asked. Shrugging, he looked down. 

“I don’t know. He seemed… well. Stubborn. Relentless. He willingly killed two hundred innocent people for his war. I tried to talk to him, but he just thought I was enchanted. He refused to listen when I told him I wasn’t. He hated magic. He said that, when he wins, he plans to execute all magic users. I fail to see how he’s much different to Balinor, honestly.”

He said the words casually, even though they hurt him. He winced, however, when he heard Morgana gasp and step back, eyes wide. Oh, shit. He’d forgotten she was a magic user. How? He had no idea. Fuck. 

“No. You’re lying. Our father wouldn’t do that. He, he wants a better future for Albion. I mean, I’m sure he does. Why else would he do all this?” 

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Morgana, the girl looking around shiftily. Funny. She sounded so certain. Almost like-

Like she knew the man. 

But no. That was impossible. How would Morgana have met their father?

Though… if she’s been having more visions that she’s not been telling them about, maybe she’d learned his location at some point? Merlin said she’d been withdrawing from people. He’d seen it himself. Maybe…

Arthur remembered, abruptly, what Kilgharrah had told him. About being careful whom he placed his trust in. How someone was working against him. 

Could Morgana be…

No. No! Arthur shook his head sharply, wanting the thought to leave. He had known Morgana most of his life, had known they were related for more than half. She was annoying and frustrating and infuriating, yes, but she was also kind and caring. She was stubborn as a bull, like him, but was quick to help anyone in need. She would never betray him. Couldn’t. 

But what if she didn’t think she was betraying him? What if-

Still. No. She wouldn’t go against her own kind like that. Yes, she had always felt kinship with non-magical people, but she was proud of her magic. She wouldn’t side with a man who was bent on eradicating the ‘evil’ that was magic. Hell, if the man hated magic as much as he’d seemed, his father likely wouldn’t have allowed Morgana to help him, if he knew of her power. 

“I’m not lying,” he said at last, words cautious. “He told me himself. Well, told Merlin, as he mostly ignored me after assuming that I was enchanted. He said he wanted to ‘eradicate the evil that is magic,’ or something. He promised to punish magic users the same way that Balinor punished non-magical people. I don’t want to believe it either, but it’s true! He said it to my face!”

Morgana snarled at him, eyes flashing gold as the scattered leaves and dirt around them shot back. Arthur took a step back, eyes wide. 

“No. You’re wrong. Our father isn’t like that. He- he can’t be. Maybe you _are_ enchanted. You’ve been awfully close to _Merlin_ lately. Why else would you go against your father, whom you’ve always professed to love?” 

She said it in her sickly-sweet voice, the one he’d always hated. Like she was taunting him. Like he was a stupid child that she was chiding. He felt his fists clench as he glared at her. 

“I am not enchanted! Why will no one bloody believe me?!”

Morgana shook her head, eyes shuttered. She looked to the side for a second, before looking back, composed. She frowned and looked apologetic. But Arthur wasn’t sure he believed her. She was a good actress, after all. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m just… this whole thing is confusing me. On one hand, I want to believe our father is good and the rebellion is for the better. On the other… well. Maybe you’re right. But if he hates magic… that means that he would hate me, right? I… I don’t want our father to hate me, Arthur. I don’t-" the girl cut off, a sob rising in her throat. Arthur felt his heart break, suddenly furious at himself for doubting her. Of course, she was upset. He’d just told her that their father would hate her if they met, for something she couldn’t control. Anyone would be angry. He darted forward and pulled her into his arms, shushing her. 

He didn’t see the satisfied smirk that passed on her face, even as she snuggled closer. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Maybe he was just angry. Maybe you’re right. I only met him once, and he thought I was enchanted. He was kind when he spoke only to me, without Merlin in the room. Maybe he didn’t mean it.”

Arthur doubted that. He’d seen the look in the man’s eye. He believed his words. He truly thought magic was evil. Arthur wasn’t sure if he could blame him. He’d hated magic, too, once. Before his sister had become a sorceress and long before he’d met Merlin, who’d eradicated any belief he might have had about magic itself being evil. If someone as good and pure as Merlin could wield magic, then the art itself must not be evil, then. Not entirely. It was like a sword. If left to the wrong wielder, then it could do great damage. But, in the hands of a good person… it was simply a tool. A weapon. Not good nor evil. It all depended on the one who used it. 

But he wanted to assuage his sister. It didn’t matter if their father truly believed his words or not. Not when Morgana was crying softly on his shirt. He was a good brother. He’d lie if it meant making the girl smile. 

And it did. She looked up at him a moment later, smiling slightly, though it wobbled. He ruffled her hair, like she hated, making her yell in indignation. Arthur just laughed. 

She hexed him, then, making his face break out in horrible acne. 

“Morgana!” He screamed, furious as he felt his face ache from the hex. Morgana just laughed, as she raced away. He followed her, but she was faster, her feet nimble across the forest floor. She darted passed Merlin, who ran out behind a tree, eyes wide as he looked around, looking for the danger. He looked at Morgana in confusion as she ran, laughing, passed, then turned his confused eyes on Arthur, as the man pulled to a stop before him, panting angrily. The confusion turned to mirth as he noticed the hex, laughing like the bastard he was. 

“I’m going to kill her,” he snarled through gritted teeth. And to think, he’d been trying to be nice! See if he ever did that again. 

“Oh! Oh, Arthur!” Merlin gasped, clutching his sides as he howled with laughter. Arthur turned his scowl to the prince, eyes dark. 

“Don’t. Don’t you dare. Can you fix this?” He hissed, not even wanting to look at his face. He’d had enough issues with acne as a teenager. It had been awful. He was so glad he rarely had issues now that he was an adult. Merlin was still laughing, but he nodded. When he had calmed himself down enough, the man muttered a spell, a counter to the hex Morgana had cast. Arthur put his hands to his face, knowing he shouldn’t but not caring, making sure his skin was smooth again. Sighing in relief when he felt it was, he groaned and hit his head against the nearest tree. 

“And that, _Mer_ lin, is why I don’t like talking to Morgana. Horrible toad. See what I get for trying to be nice?!”

Merlin gave him a sympathetic look, eyes darting around, before he leaned closer and gave him a peck on the lips. 

“Aw, poor baby,” he crooned, laughing at Arthur’s murderous look. The man sobered quickly after and frowned. “Were you able to figure out why she’s been upset?” 

Arthur sobered too, and nodded, though he put his arms around Merlin’s waist and held him close. He didn’t know why he was feeling distressed. Nothing had really happened. 

(After all. It wasn’t like he was still suspecting his sister of being the traitor. She wouldn’t. She _wouldn’t_. Right?) 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, against Merlin’s neck. The other shuddered lightly. “I did. She’s just upset about everything that’s going on. And about our father. Apparently, she’s been having more visions. They always distressed her when we were little, so I assume that must be the problem now. They must be powerful, to cut across that bracelet the Druids had given her.” 

Merlin hummed, rubbing light circles on Arthur’s back. He’d never admit it, but it felt nice. Very nice. He kissed Merlin’s neck softly in return, making the hum turn into a soft moan. 

The pair pulled back abruptly a second later when Merlin’s second-in-command, a Mage named Iseldir, called out for him to come back so they could keep on track, time wise. They only had a few more hours to go if they got going soon. 

Smiling sheepishly, Merlin shrugged and headed back, Arthur following. They mounted their horses and rode on. 

He was still concerned about his sister. He couldn’t help that. 

He only hoped that their talk had helped her. 

Even a little. 


	28. The (Untitled) Goose Cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm not late, for once! :-D 
> 
> As I mentioned last chapter, this chapter is not my favorite. I had a lot of trouble with it, and actually rewrote almost all of it, actually. I realized halfway through that this whole side quest was very superfluous, and unneeded. But I introduce two main plot points that are very important to the story later on. The plot point introduced in this chapter is a bit confusing, but I did my best to explain it the best I could. Feel free to ask questions if you're confused. 
> 
> Thanks again for the comments! ^-^
> 
> Enjoy!

“Well. Here we are at the goose cave. Let’s see what treasures await us, hm?”

Merlin heard a muffled snort at his side and turned an amused grin on his counterpart, who was shaking his head at his muttered words. Honestly, though. This was a waste of their time. They had so much more they could be doing that this was honestly angering him. 

The entrance was proving tricky, too. The spell that blocked entry was more complicated that he’d anticipated. Perhaps he was a bit too cocky, at times. It wasn’t really his fault. Tell a man he’s the world’s best warlock one too many times and it starts to go to his head. Not his fault he’s a touch arrogant at times. Definitely not. 

“We should get this over with. Being away from Camelot for so long is making me anxious,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head. Merlin just sighed. Only he and Arthur remained at the cave entrance, Merlin banishing everyone else for disrupting his process. Arthur had stayed, because of course he’d stayed. He loathed to think what the others were thinking. He saw the looks his Mages gave him. Bastards, the lot of them. 

No funny business was going on, though. He was legitimately getting frustrated. Not only was this whole thing a complete waste of time, but he _couldn’t get in the bloody door_. He swore, the gods, or whatever, were laughing at him. 

He knew, however, that if he returned without having opened the door that his father would be furious. So, he had to open the door. Somehow. 

”Drws agored nawr,*” Merlin muttered, groaning when it didn’t work. “Open, you stupid door! Goddammit.”

Arthur laughed, the bastard. “What? Is the door proving too challenging for you, Merlin?”

“Oh, fuck off,” he called, rolling his eyes. He shook out his hands, cracked his neck, and got down to business. 

Ten minutes later, he was ready to bash his head against the door. Maybe it required a blood sacrifice? He was more than willing at this point. 

“Maybe we should take a break. Obviously, your magic is tired,” Arthur taunted, shaking his head. Why was he in love with this man again? He had no idea. He asked as such to Arthur, who just laughed. 

“For my charming personality and amazing wit, of course!”

Oh, yes. Of course. 

Merlin just shook his head, but he sat beside the man when he took a seat on the rubble beside the door. He groaned and let his head fall on Arthur’s shoulder. To his credit, the man didn’t tease him anymore, instead just wrapping his arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. He was glad they were alone. This was nice. 

“Perhaps there’s something you missed? Some writing on the door? Gaius told me that Xador was a tricky man, liking mischief. Maybe he’s being tricky.” 

Merlin had actually thought of that, thanks. He’d checked the perimeter of the door, scrutinizing it closely. There were no words or runes, or if there had been, they’d long since faded. 

“It’s possible. But I don’t know how to find it,” he muttered back. Arthur hummed and shrugged. 

After a minute he got up and headed back to the door, his magic swelling around him as he tried to find a way to open the blasted thing. Maybe if he blew it up…? Hm. Maybe. But it seemed dangerous…

After another twenty minutes he was about to give it a try. He’d even sent Arthur out of the room, too frustrated for any conversation at all. 

He stormed out of the cave, startling the Mages and guards who were chatting and laughing. Iseldir looked up and him and frowned. 

“Problems, my prince?”

Merlin shook his head, not out of denial but out of frustration. 

“That bloody door is the worst. I can’t figure it out. Not only was coming here a waste of time, but I can’t even open the stupid door!”

Merlin huffed as he sat on the ground beside the fire they’d created, the sun still up but the air chillier now that they were in the mountains. The cave itself was partway up a mountain, though a small one, so the air was chill. 

Iseldir just hummed, nodding sagely. 

“Perhaps a break will help. The cave of Xador has remained closed for hundreds of years. It may take some time to open it.”

Merlin scoffed. “Of course. Why else would we be here? Goddamn goose chase,” Merlin muttered angrily, causing Arthur, who had snuck up beside him and was tantalizingly close (but oh so far), to hum sympathetically. 

“You’ll get it, Prince Merlin. Don’t worry,” Arthur muttered, likely adding the honorific in case anyone else heard. Not like they all didn’t suspect things between the two of them. He was fairly close to his Mages, after all. He wouldn’t quite call them friends, but they were friendly. Enough. Most of them had seen him grow from a young, wet-behind-the-ears youth, to the man he was today. It was hard to hide things from people like that. 

They ate an early dinner after that, Merlin estimating it wasn’t any later than five, but not caring. He was hungry, since lunch had been early, and beyond frustrated. Arthur dutifully made the meal without a complaint, humming a soft tune that no one but Merlin could hear, as close as he was to the other. It made Merlin smile, looking at Arthur with such a tender look it was no wonder people were suspecting things. He couldn’t help it, though. He was just… happy. Being able to actually express the feelings he felt for the first time in almost two years. It was incredible. Conversely, it was the worst torture when he had to pretend otherwise. He hated it. 

Dinner made, the men (and Morgana) sat around the fire and ate. The ground was uncomfortable, since they were no longer in a forest with soft soil, and were instead on a hard mountain side, the rocks digging into their bottoms as they tried to get comfortable. 

Dinner was pleasant, he supposed. He was brooding, though. He hated being bad at something. Especially when there was so much that he still had to do. It frustrated him endlessly. 

“Stop worrying, Merlin,” Arthur muttered again. “It’ll be fine. You’ll figure it out. And if not, we just head back. It’s not like there’s anything in that cave that will actually help us.”

Merlin conceded to that. He knew his father would be pissed, though. Might even send him back out just to spite him. Mostly he was just tired of being jerked around. He hated it. He wanted just one thing to go right. For once. 

Dinner ended quickly after, Merlin cleaning the bowls with a muttered spell, making Arthur glare at him. Merlin just shrugged, sheepish. What? It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t enjoy cleaning things. He always had to be busy, after all. Merlin was sure the man would explode if he were forced to be idle for too long. 

With that, Merlin stood and strode over to the cave. He had a second wind. He would find a way to enter that cave tonight, or he’d die trying. Was he being overly dramatic? Hell yes. Did he care? Hell no. 

When two hours passed without any progression, Merlin seriously began thinking about trying the blood sacrifice. He swore to God. 

“Merlin. It’s getting late. Why don’t you come go to bed? You need your strength,” Arthur claimed, leaning casually against the cliff face. This far up the mountain, the air was cold and thin, the cave entrance not providing any comfort. Merlin barely felt it as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I’m almost there, Arthur. Just… just give me a minute, alright?” He muttered back. He knew he was close. He _knew_ it. Arthur sighed again. 

“That’s what you said two hours ago. You’ve been staring at this wall for hours now. You need to rest, Merlin. You’re going to drive yourself mad if you keep on this way. Look, just get some sleep; you can approach this in the morning with fresh eyes. Alright?”

Merlin didn’t want to. He wanted to keep working. He was close. He knew it!

But something in him wanted him to go as Arthur said. To make the concerned look fade from Arthur’s eyes. _Probably the bond_ , he thought bitterly. He hadn’t meant to form such a deep bond between the two. Had he known they were already bound by Fate, he likely wouldn’t have made his vow that day. 

Though… who was he kidding. Yes, he would have. He liked the idea of being bound to Arthur. He had no idea what Arthur thought of the whole thing, however. He’d yet to find the right time to tell the man. He wanted to, don’t get him wrong! It was just… how did you tell the man you were spending the rest of your life with that you’d accidentally on purpose bound them with undying loyalty to one another, and that whenever one asked something, the other would feel pressure to complete the task? It wasn’t like they _had_ to do it. It was just… it would feel nice to do it. 

Or that’s what he had been taught about loyalty bonds, as his father and Gaius called them. Usually they were one sided. A peasant pledging allegiance to a serf. A knight pledging allegiance to a king. Only those with magic could make the bond, though, either in themselves or in others. Binding words to deed. He hadn’t meant to do it, but he couldn’t say he disliked it. It was annoying, though, to be told to do something that was so opposite to what he wanted to do.

Merlin sighed, shaking his head. 

“Arthur. Please. I just…” he scrambled for words, feeling helpless. He just wanted to do one thing right. To do one thing. Was that too much to ask? 

Arthur sighed in response, before Merlin felt a warm chest press against his back. He stiffened, though melted a moment later into Arthur’s arms. 

“This isn’t important. You are, Merlin. Your health is. Don’t overwork yourself just because you’re frustrated. I can’t bear seeing you like this. It... it hurts me.”

“That’s low,” Merlin muttered, though he laced his fingers with the ones that were warm on his belly. Arthur chuckled. 

“Will it work?”

Merlin sighed again, shaking his head. 

“I don’t know, Arthur. I just… father sent me here to be rid of me. What is going on in that castle now that I’m not there to stop it? What is he planning? For that matter, what is your father planning? I have no idea. This is something I can do. Something I should be able to do. But I _can’t_. How can anyone expect me to be a king, a leader, if I can’t even open a bloody door? Arthur, I just…” Merlin trailed off, feeling slightly ashamed. He hadn’t meant to say all that. He hadn’t even realized he felt like that until he said it. Arthur didn’t judge him, though. Arthur never did, not on important things. Instead, the man just pressed his lips carefully to the side of Merlin’s neck, kissing his pulse point softly. Merlin gasped, suddenly glad that he had insisted they make camp well away from the cave, meaning no one should be able to see them. 

“Being a good King has no bearing on whether or not you can open a bloody door, Merlin. It’s just a door. A door to a cave that has no bearing on anything. You’re being silly.”

Merlin scoffed, turning in Arthur’s arms, and glaring at him lightly. Arthur just smiled at him, making his heart melt. But he was still annoyed, so he frowned (not pouted!) 

“How do you know? Maybe the Goose Cave, as you so lovingly call it, holds the answer to all our problems. Hm? Maybe by not opening it I’m dooming us all. Have you thought of that?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, wrinkling his nose. It was adorable. But Merlin maintained his frown (not pout!) and glared at the man. 

“Yeah, and maybe I’m secretly a fairy princess sent from Avalon to take over the world,” Arthur intoned, making Merlin snicker despite himself. What? It was a funny image. Arthur smiled, kissing Merlin’s nose lightly. “It’s possible, but unlikely. Let it go, Merlin. You tried. It’s not worth the effort. Come morning we can just head back home, maybe stop at those Druid settlements you were interested in. This cave means nothing to us. Your father is a bastard who doesn’t deserve as amazing a son as you. So just leave it.”

Arthur’s voice was soft and beseeching, his eyes pleading Merlin to listen. And Merlin… well. It was so hard to deny the man. His bond was begging him to give in. As was everything else in him. 

Sighing, Merlin nodded, feeling tired. 

“Fine. But you do know my father is still king, yeah?”

Arthur laughed, high and sweet, making him smile. 

“Fuck him. He holds no loyalty from me. You do.”

Merlin laughed that time, grinning at the roguish grin Arthur gave him. 

“If it’s all the same, I’d rather you fuck me,” Merlin mused, making Arthur’s eyes go wide, before he rolled them with a breathy laugh. 

“You spent too much time around Gwaine. Honestly. And here I was, thinking you’d be a prude. You surprise me, Merlin.”

Merlin gave Arthur one last smile, before sighing. Their previous conversation returned to him and he had to concede that maybe Arthur was right. Maybe he should just give up. What did the Cave of Xador hold for him, anyway? Maybe he could come back, when this all was done and figure it out then. For now, it might be best to just give up. 

He hated it though. He could feel frustration mount in him even as he shuffled his feet, moving in Arthur’s embrace. If only there was a way to make him focus better. To get him to see what he was missing. To-

A thought entered Merlin’s head. His eyes widened as he looked at Arthur, who gave him a curious look. 

“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you alright? Merlin-“

“Order me to open the door,” he breathed, his eyes so wide they were hurting. But his thoughts were racing. Surely, this wouldn’t work. Why would it? Bond magic didn’t work like this. It didn’t make you do things you weren’t already able to do. But… 

It did make you want to do something more. Made you more alert. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage? 

“What?! Merlin, what on earth are you in about? Did you hit your head while you were in here?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, before shaking his head sharply. “But that’s not what’s happening. I just… okay, so this is going to be hard to explain and I _promise_ to explain it better later. But do you remember when we kind of, you know. Professed undying loyalty to one another?”

He paused, looking at Arthur warily. He was excited, but he didn’t want Arthur to hate him. Arthur just nodded absently, still staring at him. 

“Well, when you pledged loyalty to me, my magic took you at your word and bound you to me. Making you want to do as I ask. It’s not like you’re losing your free will! It doesn’t make you do anything you really don’t want to. It just makes you feel more pressure to do it. Well, in order to even it out, I pledged myself to you in return. So, we’re kind of, maybe… bound?” 

Arthur was just looking at him like he’d just sprouted a new head and was speaking in tongues. Ooookay, that’s not good. Merlin briefly panicked as he tried to explain without Arthur hating him. 

“But we already were bound! I didn’t know that, though, thanks. So, all my magic did was strengthen our old bond. I have no idea what any of this means for us, but it makes it so that we want to do what the other says, regardless of if it’s possible or not.”

Recognition lighted in Arthur’s eyes at that. 

“So, you want me to order you to find a way into the cave, to see if the magic will listen.”

Merlin beamed, glad Arthur was understanding him, but also that he didn’t seem angry. Seem being the key word, he told himself. 

“Exactly. Bond magic can’t make you do what is out of your own ability, nor can it actually make you do the impossible. It can’t make a mediocre magic user suddenly a master, for example. Or give someone the strength of a thousand men. But it can, in theory, help utilize the strengths a person already has and allow them to do things they ordinarily could have done but were for some reason unable to do. In theory. We can see if that’s true, at least. I don’t know much about bonds if I’m being honest. Father and Gaius always just said to not enter a bond of any kind, under any circumstances, unless I fully trusted the other party, as bonds have the ability to be abused horribly if they go wrong. But I do. Trust you, I mean. So... yeah. Are you… are you mad? I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, I was just afraid and didn’t know how to say it, and I didn’t want you to hate me, god, please don’t hate me, Arthur, I-“

He was cut off by a pair of lips pressed firmly to his. Hm. Of all the ways his rambling had been shut up, this had to have been the most pleasant. 

“Merlin,” Arthur muttered against his lips. Merlin hummed, his mouth too busy kissing to come up with intelligible words. “Shut up.”

Merlin nodded and just let Arthur kiss him for long minutes, mind blissfully blank. Kissing Arthur was nice, he’d decided. Pleasant. He was a good kisser, though inexperienced. Merlin didn’t mind. It was sweet. 

Finally, Arthur pulled back, sighing, and shaking his head. 

“Alright. I’m not mad at you. I already knew about the bond, anyway.” At Merlin’s bewildered look, Arthur shrugged, kind of helplessly. “The Dragon told me. Kilgharrah. He said we were bound tighter now than before, that to remove it would be like cutting off a limb, compared to a finger. I have no bloody idea how bonds work if I’m being honest. But it’s fine. Do you really want me to order you to do this? What if the cave is cursed? What if leaving it alone is for the better?”

Merlin pushed aside his indignation that Arthur had failed to tell him what the Dragon had said. He thought they were being fully honest with one another! However… well, he had been keeping this a secret from Arthur, hadn’t he? Hm. Seemed they needed to do better with their whole ‘self-disclosure’ thing. They were a team. Teams didn’t keep secrets. He’d discuss this later, though. They had other things to do presently. 

“It’s possible. But if we can use the bond like this, wouldn’t that be a good thing? We can use it to our advantage. Plus, it means this whole thing wasn’t worthless. Maybe the cave won’t have anything that can counter against your father’s artifact, but it might have other artifacts that could help. Xador was a world renown warlock, though he adored playing tricks on people. He might have some useful books or something. I doubt he’d curse the cave, but I’ll be careful. I promise.”

It was his turn to try his hand at a roguish grin. He didn’t know how well he did, but Arthur just sighed, shaking his head. 

“Fine. Then I order you to find a way to open the door. But be careful. Please.” 

Merlin nodded but felt something in him light up. Like he had a new burst of energy. A third wind, he supposed. Like he had eaten some of those weird plants that Gaius sometimes grew that gave a person more energy. He didn’t feel too different than usual, but he felt more purpose. Less hopeless. Like he could do anything if he just put his mind to it. 

It was incredible. 

He turned and faced the cave entrance again. He squinted and paced before it, eyes shrewd as he observed every inch of the wall. The sun was almost entirely faded, so he conjured a light so he could still see. 

It took maybe ten minutes before his eyes landed on something he’d originally overlooked, thinking it was just a roughly hewn rock. But, eyes narrowed, he bent down and looked at it closer. After a second, he realized why he was suspicious of the rock. And he grinned. Of course, his prior spells hadn’t worked! He was trying to unlock a lock. When he actually had to reason with the lock. 

“Os gwelwch yn dda agor clo pert felly efallai y byddaf yn mynd i mewn i'ch siambr**”

With that, the rock giggled and a small face poked out at him. It giggled again and disappeared in a puff of smoke. The door opened then, making Merlin laugh. He said a quick, but powerful, detection spell to make sure no curses were placed on the entrance. Satisfied there wasn’t, he moved forward to enter the cave, but Arthur just made a sound of warning. 

“We should head to bed now, Merlin. We can check out the cave in the morning with the others. It’s too late to go spelunking now. I’m not going to force you, but I think getting some sleep before exploring would be best.”

Merlin hesitated but nodded a second. Yeah, that made sense. 

“Yeah. Okay. We should head back to camp, then.”

“Wait. First. What the hell was that rock thing? Why did it giggle like that?”

Merlin laughed at that. Oh yeah. 

“I don’t know what it’s called. It’s a little mischievous guardian creature that disguises itself as an inconspicuous item and guards doors, sometimes for centuries. Its magic is very strong, though, so the only way to really get passed it is to reason with it or flatter it with magic. It worked, at least!”

Arthur hummed, nodding, though he didn’t seem to get it. He didn’t ask though. 

“I guess the bond helped you find it?”

Merlin shrugged. 

“I’m not sure. It helped me care more, at least. It felt like I was more awake. More aware. So, this is something to keep in mind, I suppose. It’s helpful to know, yeah?”

Arthur nodded, then nodded his head back to the direction of the campsite. Merlin nodded. Merlin headed to the door and closed it, locking it with an easy to counter (for him, at least) spell come morning. He didn’t want anything that may be lurking in the depth to escape in the middle of the night, after all. 

With that, the pair headed outside, the chill night air making their breath fog. The area in the camp was warm, though, as the Mages collectively put up warming spells. It was hard to keep a warming spell up in sleep, but as long as they took turns as guard in the night, one of them should be able to keep a basic charm up throughout the night. Luckily, it wasn’t his night to keep watch. 

At the moment, half of the party were in their sleep rolls, showing to Merlin just how late it had gotten. The others were still mulling about a bit, a couple chatting lowly with one another, but they all were starting to settle in. It was a cold night, but he supposed it could be worse, fixed easily by the warming spells. And as high as they were in the mountain, the night sky was perfectly clear. The moon was a waxing crescent, so there wasn’t too much light polluting the sky. It was beautiful, Merlin felt. He’d always adored the stars, making his own constellations up as he gazed at the distant stars. He turned from the skies to the people who were still awake. 

“I was able to unlock the door,” Merlin told to Iseldir, who was keeping first watch. The man smiled at him. “We will enter first thing in the morning. For now, let’s get some rest. I locked it again, so no one will enter while we sleep.” 

Iseldir nodded, eyes sharp as he kept watch for the night. Assured, Merlin headed over to his sleep roll and got in, eyes seeking out Arthur as the man followed. They still weren’t able to sleep as close as they wanted, but they were side by side, close enough to touch, barely. 

“Get some sleep, Merlin,” Arthur muttered as he laid down on his roll, smiling softly at him. Feeling his eyes droop, Merlin smiles back and nodded. 

“You too. Get some sleep.”

He smiled as he saw Arthur comply, nodding as his eyes slowly closed. Merlin held on long enough to watch the man fall asleep, eyes closing themselves when he saw the steady rise and fall of a chest, the soft snores filling the air. 

This wasn’t a bad order, he felt. He was usually a light sleeper, waking at any and all sounds. Arthur’s order allowed him to get a deeper rest, even though his magic still had him on high alert. 

It was nice. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Turned out the Goose Cave was a bust. 

Not to say it wasn’t neat, Arthur conceded. It even had a lot of books that made Merlin gasp so prettily, eyes shining with the desire to learn more about magic. There just hadn’t been anything useful to the rebellion. Like they had suspected.

Now the party was currently in an old Druid settlement, the leader of the group coming out and smiling at the prince. Merlin claimed that if anyone would know of an artifact that blocked magic completely, it would be them. 

Hopefully, they’d find something out that made this trip worthwhile.

Merlin was smiling at the Druid leader, currently, greeting him as a prince would greet a fellow royal. Arthur didn’t really understand the Druid culture, but he would follow in Merlin’s footsteps and act as respectful as he could. The Druids were a peaceful people, in tune with magic and the world. He’d learned a bit about them after Morgana had joined them all those years ago, but he still wasn’t entirely sure how to act around them. 

“Ah, Prince Emrys. It is good to see you,” the aged Druid leader said, clasping Merlin’s arm with his. Merlin inclined his head, smiling politely. 

“And you, Chieftain Ishan. I had some questions for you, regarding ancient Druid legends. I was wondering if you would be able to help me?”

“Of course!” Ishan claimed, nodding at the other Druids around them. Soon they were being welcomed into the settlement, the party seated beside a fire while children ran around, laughing and looking at them with wide eyes. Arthur smiled at one, a little girl no older than four. She smiled back, before darting forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. He felt his eyes go wide as he looked up at Merlin, who was laughing at him silently, eyes twinkling. Arthur hesitantly patted the girl on the back, hoping she’d take the hint and run off. 

Sadly, she didn’t, and instead shifted to settle on his lap. Great. He was an over-glorified chair now. Wonderful. Where were her parents?

He looked at Merlin again, begging the man to help him, but the bastard was just too busy laughing at him. Horrible man. Truly. 

Luckily, he wasn’t the only one. Morgana currently was deep in conversation with a group of children, smiling as she held one in her arms, bouncing the child lightly on her hip. She met his eyes and made a face at him, nodding to the child. What, did she expect him to bounce the girl like she was doing? He was awful with children! There was a reason he mostly kept away from the youth in Fayford. He just said the wrong thing and accidentally hurt their feelings. 

The girl didn’t seem to be going anywhere, however. In fact, she seemed more than content to sit in his lap for the rest of the night, if she had to. Wonderful. 

It got even better when Merlin left the circle, heading with the chief to talk in private. Now, he was stuck in a group of people who barely even noticed him, a giggling child on his lap, and his sister was glaring at him for some reason. Sighing, he bounced his knee up and down, making the girl squeal with joy. Arthur had to grit his teeth to not wince at the loud noise right by his ear. At least Morgana seemed happy with him. She nodded and went back to her discussion with the children, smiling softly. Ugh. She’d always liked kids, even though she could never be trusted around them. She was a bad influence. 

After a while though, he got used to the feeling. And in fact… okay, he would never admit this out loud, even on pain of death, but he kind of... liked it. The girl just seemed to trust him so much. She’d never met him and yet was perfectly content to sit in his lap, chewing on her hand absently. Arthur chided her softly and pulled the hand away, knowing how filthy hands should not be in little mouths. She pouted at him (adorably, he refused to admit) but accepted it. Instead she began babbling about a frog she’d seen the other day, how it had jumped into the lake before turning into a beautiful princess, who whisked the girl away to a beautiful meadow, where fireflies and lady bugs danced in the predawn air. Arthur honestly had no idea what was going on in the story, truth be told. The plot changed every minute or so, the girl adding more and more alternative plot points. Arthur just nodded along and made interested noises, pretending he understood when he had never felt more lost. 

Merlin eventually returned, smiling softly at him as he took a seat beside him, introducing himself to the girl. She let out an excited squeal and darted over to put her, somehow sticky, arms around the prince’s neck. Merlin looked at him with wide eyes, now, but Arthur just smirked and stuck out his tongue. Fair is fair, after all. He definitely didn’t feel a bit betrayed, the girl abandoning him so quickly. The not-feeling faded when the girl returned to Arthur’s lap and began whispering about how she had met a real prince! Wasn’t that exciting? 

“Did you find out anything useful?” Arthur asked the man quietly, not wanting to interrupt the girl (Zelda, she had introduced herself as, at one point), but wanting to know if this was another bust or not. He got his answer when Merlin sighed and shook his head. 

“No. They heard about as much as Iseldir said, that the artifact existed, not what it was. They did say that there is a settlement east of here, about an hour’s ride, that might know more. We’ll head out there later. After lunch. The settlement has requested we stay, to show us honor or something,” Merlin muttered, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at little Zelda, who was still chatting away in Arthur’s arms. Something about a giant ladybug who was best friends with a teeny cockroach. Well. She certainly had a big imagination. 

Arthur nodded at Merlin, before asking Zelda what the cockroach’s name was. That launched her into the tragic tale of how the cockroach had lost his name but was determined to find it with the help of his ladybug friend, whose name was Mud. 

Lunch was a happy affair, the Druids laughing and chatting with them as they ate a surprisingly good meal of nuts and berries, with some venison on the side. It wasn’t the largest meal, but after days of eating only stew (that he had been forced to make, mind), it was extremely good. He was a bit disappointed when Zelda’s parents came and said they needed to put her down for a nap, but he smiled wide when she kissed him on the cheek and declared him her new best friend. She then ran off, giggling, yelling to her parents how she had met two princes that day! 

“Aww,” Merlin cooed, grin wide as he watched Arthur watch Zelda leave. Arthur glared at the man, but he didn’t look like he was teasing. He looked… soft. Warm. Like Arthur was his everything. It made his heart stutter, a soft smile rising on his lips. It turned into a scowl at the man’s next words. “I never knew you were such a sap. Should we braid each other’s hair, now?” 

“Oh, shove off,” Arthur grumbled, pushing Merlin lightly. Merlin laughed and shoved him back, though his eyes were shining. He didn’t remove his shoulder from where it was pressed against Arthur’s, just let it linger as they chatted lightly. 

Once lunch finished, the party stood to head out, Merlin talking with Iseldir to discuss their next plans. Arthur stood and headed out to take a piss. Before he could get too far, he saw Morgana approach him, the girl looking around apprehensively. They were far enough away from the camp that no one could see them, or hear them likely, so Arthur just raised an eyebrow. 

“Is something wrong?” He questioned, shifting on his feet. He really had to go, actually. Zelda had been pressing against his bladder for half the time she was on his lap, making him have to go really bad. Morgana just turned wide eyes on him, smiling her fake, too wide smile. His eyes narrowed. She was up to something. 

“No, of course not! I just wanted to see how you were. You seemed awfully fond of that little Druid girl. She to be your new bride?” Morgana teased, her body relaxing as she returned to her normal teasing. Arthur rolled his eyes, putting his unease out of his head. 

“Yes, of course,” he drawled, shaking his head. “We will have a summer wedding. She’s four, Morgana. Christ.” 

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know you liked children now. Thinking of adopting? Maybe you and Merlin can raise her together. I’m sure you’d like that,” she muttered bitterly. Arthur narrowed his eyes again. Why was she acting so strange? 

“Look. Do you have a problem with me? Or Merlin? I’m not so sure I like your tone, Morgana.”

Morgana sneered, before shaking her head. 

“I’m just worried, Arthur. You’ve been awfully close to Merlin these days. Are you sure that’s wise? You know what his father is like. And you know what they say. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Arthur felt his mouth fall open, offense filling him. How dare she?! She spent almost as much time around Merlin as he did! How could she say such a thing?!

“How can you say that? Morgana! Merlin is not his father, nor has he ever been! He’s far kinder and a much better person, by half. I won’t hear you slander his name.”

Morgana sneered again but shook her head. She then sighed, looking tired. 

“Look, I’m sorry Arthur. I’m just… I’m still so worried. I want to trust Merlin, really, I do. Just… you know what his father is like. Can he really be that different?”

She truly believed this, didn’t she? 

He was reminded, once again, of what the Dragon had said. He trusted Morgana. He really, really did. But he knew her, too. Knew her well. If she were certain about something, if she truly believed she was right… there were times she’d do anything to prove it. 

But would she willingly work with a rebel group to prove it? Would she willingly let hundreds of innocent people die to prove a point? 

He didn’t want to think this. He had so few living family members. Morgana was probably the one, besides his mother, that he was closest to. He can’t… she couldn’t… 

“Yes, Morgana. He can. He is. He is the hope for the future of Albion, and I truly believe that. Not because of magic, or because I’m an idiot. But because he has proven to me that he’s that kind of person. If you would let yourself, you’d see it too.”

Morgana stared at him for a second, eyes shrewd, before she smiled and shrugged. 

“Oh, of course! I don’t mean to sound rude or like I’m feeling suspicious or anything. I just… I’m tired, Arthur. But I don’t like fighting with you. Are you mad at me?”

She asked him this with big, round eyes, making Arthur sigh. He wanted to lie to make her feel better, but honestly...

“A little, kind of. Merlin fought for you, Morgana. He fought to let you in the Mages so that you could stay in the castle with Freya. He did that for you. And for Freya, but he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t think you worth it. You owe a lot to him and to hear you doubt him like that… I don’t like it, Morgana. I really don’t.”

With that, he turned, deciding he’d just wait to piss until later, when Morgana called out to him, eyes full of apology. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur, please. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t be mad at me, you know I hate it when you are. What can I do to make this better?”

Arthur huffed, crossing his arms. Nothing, really. Offer him proof that she wasn’t the traitor? Yeah. Fat chance. He couldn’t even mention that he was, unwillingly, suspicious. If he did, and she was the traitor, that would make her act sneakier. And if she weren’t the traitor, he’d just hurt her feelings and he didn’t want that. So, he just had to leave, bide his time, and hope his suspicions were wrong. 

“I don’t know, Morgana. I just… don’t know.”

Morgana bit her lip, thinking about something. She seemed to be debating something. After a second, she nodded minutely to herself, like she’d made a decision, and looked up at him with determination in her eyes. He took an involuntary step back, not liking whatever she had planned. 

“Here, why don’t you have some of my wine? The kind you always liked when we were younger. It’s a little watered down, to make it last longer, but it should taste the same.” He stared at her for a long moment, until she shook the water skin she had taken out, looking annoyed. “Well? Drink quick, I won’t offer again.”

Morgana had pulled out her water skin, holding it out with a raised eyebrow. Arthur looked at it cautiously. His sister never shared her wine with him. The few times he’d stolen it from her she’d hexed his hair blue for a week, or made painful boils appear on his backside. Arthur didn’t know what her reasoning here was. Was she really that upset at him being mad at her? She’d never cared much before. Though, maybe it was different, in these days. Maybe she didn’t want to be mad when they parted, in case… well. 

Sighing, Arthur grabbed the skin, giving her a sardonic look. He really didn’t want to drink more when his bladder was so full, but if it made her feel better, then fine. He opened the top and took a sniff, frowning. It didn’t smell much like wine. Maybe a hint of it, deep within. Had she watered it down that much? 

“What? What’s wrong? It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It hadn’t been, actually, but now that she mentioned it...

No, he reminded himself harshly, pulling the skin up to his lips. He trusted Morgana. With his life. She’d never harm him, no matter whose side of this war she truly was on. Traitor or not, she was family. She loved him. She wouldn’t poison him. 

Right?

Right, he confirmed, putting the skin up to his lips and nearly took a sip. Right as he was about to, however, he heard someone call out his name. Distracted, he lowered the skin and looked in the direction he’d heard the voice come from. A second later, Merlin came barreling through the trees, grinning at him. His grin faltered when he saw the death glare Morgana was giving him. Arthur looked at the girl, about to ask what her problem was, when she snatched the water skin back. Hey!

“Oh, never mind. I’ll talk to you later. Have fun with the prince,” she muttered, shooting him a dark look. He could only stare after her, bewildered, as she darted off, her hair billowing behind her. 

“Oi. What’s her problem?” Merlin questioned, eyes wide. Arthur could only shrug helplessly. 

“I have no idea. Time of the month?”

Merlin scrunched his nose adorably but shrugged. Arthur didn’t bring up the concerns he had about Morgana. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. 

Didn’t mean that Arthur wouldn’t keep an eye out, but it was just because he was concerned for Morgana. Not concerned about Morgana. He didn’t want to raise any alarm when none was needed. 

“Was there something you wanted?” Arthur asked, after a moment passed in silence. Merlin lit up, remembering why he had run over. 

“Oh! Right. We’re heading out soon. Iseldir said that it would likely take us a bit longer to get to the settlement than previously expected, since a recent landslide blocked off the quickest path. We should get there by sundown if we’re lucky. It doesn’t bring us too far out of the way, as it is north of here, but it’s also an hour east out of our way. Hopefully, it’s worth it, or else I’m just leading us on another goose chase. Though, the spell books I picked up from Xador’s cave were nice.”

“As was the goose statue,” Arthur added, grinning at Merlin sharply. Merlin rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue but smiled after. To be fair, it probably wasn’t a statue of a goose. It was likely a swan. But it looked enough like a goose that Arthur had burst out laughing when he saw it, Merlin cackling when he’d shown it to the man. The other Mages must have thought them mad, but it was hilarious to them. Arthur still had the thing. It was solid silver with sapphire inlay. It was likely worth something, at least. There was also a faded inscription on the base. Arthur thought it said something like “it’s a lovely morning in the village. And you are a horrible goose.” Though he might have been imaging it. 

“Ah yes. Sir Gosling, the Swan Goose,” Merlin intoned, eyes rolling. Before Arthur could say anything, Merlin continued. “Anyway, be ready to go within ten minutes, alright? I’ll ready the horses.”

With that, Merlin waved goodbye, heading back the way he came. With no more distractions, Arthur went and finally relieved himself, hoping nothing else came up on his way back to the camp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *means, “Door open now,” in Welsh. At least, that’s what Google says. Why Welsh? I dunno, Tumblr said that fantasy shows like using Welsh for ~~~mystical spells~~~ so I thought I’d try it. Worked better than Latin at least. Apologies to any Welsh speakers if this is incorrect. And for using your language for my own usage. 
> 
> **Means, “please open pretty lock, so I might enter your chamber,” in Welsh, according to Google. If this is incorrect, sorry! If you speak Welsh, feel free to tell me the true way, but it doesn’t matter too much. It’s just a magic spell. As long as I’m not insulting anyone by accident. 


	29. The Druid Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!! Another chapter, up. 
> 
> I don't remember what happens in this chapter, so I don't have much to say about it. It's long, and lots of things happen, so be prepared for that. 
> 
> Next chapter though! Ahh. That one is exciting. Lots of things happen and it's a big one. I'll try and get that out by Sunday, but who knows. 
> 
> I am writing another fic!! Yes, another one! This one is about Lu Ten, Iroh's son from Avatar the Last Airbender, secretly being an Earth bender and faking his death at Ba Sing Se to prevent his grandfather and uncle from disowning him, and making Iroh get in trouble keeping him safe. I got the idea from a Tumblr prompt and I'm almost done with it, so it should hopefully be up by the end of the week. It's probably gonna be around 30,000 words and 4-5 chapters that I'll post once a day until they're all up. So, if that sounds interesting to you, keep an eye out for it. :-D 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for the comments last chapter! It seems that the majority of people are uninterested in the poly Gwaine/Arthur/Merlin thing, which I get. A few people said yes, but in a separate sequel fic, which I may do, but if no one is super enthused about it, I likely won't bother. On a side note, I think there's some Gwaine content in this chapter, to kind of fix the whole thing with him. Maybe? As I said, I don't really know what's going on in this chapter, and I'm too mentally drained to even try and read through it. It is Long. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**29 The Warlock Prince** **The Druid Girl.**

Returning to Camelot had never been more relieving, Merlin felt, even though he knew that things were grim the moment he approached the gate. The citadel was still locked down, he noticed, making it hard for the party to enter. He was the crown prince, however, so the process was, mercifully, sped up. 

Just the brief ride through the town to the castle proved to Merlin how dire things were in the town. Usually there were at least a few people milling around to look up at his entrance into the city with wonder, even though he was not an unusual sight in the town itself. But the streets were deserted that day. Not a soul in sight. It wasn’t even that late, nearing four in the afternoon. He’d never seen the city look so dead. It was terrifying. 

His visit to the Druid camps had not wielded too much information for him, bringing up more questions than answers, but it hadn’t been all for naught. Chieftain Ishan has mostly told him what Iseldir has told him, then had directed him towards a camp east of the settlement that might know more. And while they had, it hadn’t been very helpful. Honestly, the whole meeting had unnerved him more than he could really say. 

The Druid settlement had been fairly small. Smaller than most, with maybe twenty to thirty inhabitants, while most settlements had seventy to one hundred. The Druids were a nomadic people but tended to settle in one place for at least a season or two, allowing their numbers to be relatively high. This settlement had been practically minuscule in comparison. 

He hadn’t known the leader’s name, either. He had made it a point, early in his training as prince, to get to know the names of the various Druid leaders or chieftains. He didn’t know how or why, but the Druids seemed to like him a lot. Some even called him their leader, though that always confused him. His father was king, not him. How could he be the leader of anything? He never questioned it, though. It would likely be rude. 

The point was, he hadn’t known the leader of this little band of Druids. It had made him uneasy, at first. After all, he hated not knowing things. He’d later learned that they were a band of Druids who had split off from a larger group over a disagreement over something several years before, which honestly hadn’t made him feel any better. Druids didn’t leave their home camp easily. Sometimes they would wander to visit other camps, but they usually came home after some time. 

They were pleasant enough, at least. There were no children here, the youngest member maybe a few years younger than himself, but they were welcoming all the same. He’d learned that they actually didn’t have an official leader, as they didn’t believe in such things. Instead, he’d asked the group at large his question, Iseldir explaining what little he knew of the artifact, himself. 

The camp had grown quiet at that, whispering amongst themselves, possibly even using telepathy to communicate privately. It had made him nervous. Something about the camp had unnerved him. He still didn’t know what it was, he thought, as he rode through the empty streets of Camelot. Nothing had outwardly seemed wrong. He just… had a feeling. 

Like he currently did, he mused, as he reached the castle, which was similarly empty. At least there he saw some forms of life. Guards, mostly, looking grim and grave. 

“Where is my father?” He asked the nearest one. “Where is the king?”

The guard had informed him that the king was presently in the war room, discussing battle plans. Merlin nodded, heading on his way. 

The Druids had eventually answered him, though it had taken them a few minutes. A young woman had parted from the crowd, her face and body waif-like and wane. Her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes were dull, her pale blond hair thin and messy. The white dress she wore was almost gray with dirt, tattered on the edges. She almost looked dead, but she seemed pleasant enough, smile brittle. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, but she looked ancient. Like she’d seen the end of the world and bore its weight. 

_What is it you want to know, Emrys?_ a voice in his head asked, making him start. It wasn’t the first time he’d been spoken to telepathically, Mordred usually preferring the method over using his voice, but it sounded so off, here. The woman’s voice… it made his already unnerved mind worsen. It was weak, but still steady. Like a wind chime, almost. 

_I want to know about the artifact the rebels are using. I want to stop them from destroying magic_ , Merlin thought back, his eyes steady on the young girl. The girl smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. In fact… nothing reached her eyes. Merlin would have thought she was blind, with how milky her eyes were, but it felt like she was staring right at him. 

_Some things are better left alone, Emrys. Some trials are better lost. Are you prepared to lose?_

Merlin shuddered at the question, the noise reverberating in his head, even though no outward sound had been made. What was she talking about? Ignoring the concerned look Arthur shot him, Merlin answered, hands shaking slightly. 

_I can’t lose. That is why I’m here. I need to know how to stop this rebellion. To bring peace to Albion._

The girl smiled again, eyes looking listlessly to the side. 

_Albion has never known peace, young Emrys. Nor will it ever. Not in our lifetime, not in any lifetime. I’ve seen it. All of it. My curse. I could tell you what I’ve seen, but it would destroy you. Some things are better left alone._

Merlin let out a noise of frustration. He didn’t want riddles! He’d been jerked around enough already! He wanted to know what he was up against. What he was being forced to face. Why could no one give him a straight answer? 

_I just want to know what the artifact is. What it does. You don’t have to tell me anymore. Do you know of it?_

The girl didn’t answer right away. Merlin could see Arthur shifting beside him in his periphery, eyebrows furrowed, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the girl. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, it was that he didn’t understand her. Why she was acting this way. Why she looked so endlessly tired and weary. Like all she wanted was to rest, forever. One of his nannies had told him a tale once, of an ancient soothsayer who had been cursed with foresight so deadly accurate, but no one would believe her. She was forced to wander the earth, knowing the horrible future that awaited, with no one to tell the secrets to. No one who would listen. 

He didn’t know why he thought of that tale, now. He’d spent years trying to forget it. His nanny hadn’t meant anything by it, but the story had chilled him from the inside out, even when he’d been the tender age of nine. 

_I know of everything, Emrys. All that you seek. All that is to come. It is my burden to bear. But not yours. Live well with your ignorance, little prince. Knowledge will not help you here._

Would she stop with the riddles? He hated riddles. Why would knowledge not help him? Knowledge helped everyone! Or so Gaius has always told him. Knowledge is power, and all. 

_Please. Stop with the riddles. Just answer me, please. I want peace. That’s all I want._

The girl laughed, then, the sound like a cold breeze, a slight wind that tousled one’s hair. Barely there at all. Had she even laughed, Merlin wondered? Or was it just a trick of the wind? 

_Don’t we all? I cannot tell you, Emrys, for you do not want to listen. You will have to make decisions in these coming days. Those you love will suffer if you choose wrong. The fate of the world resides on your shoulders. Can you handle the weight?_

No. Stop. He didn’t… he took in a ragged breath, eyes darting to the side, looking at the dirt. Arthur was still staring at him, concern in his bright blue eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Just stared. 

_I… I don’t know. Please, help me. I can’t do this alone. I need help._

The girl smiled, again, before glancing her milky eyes towards Arthur, who Merlin could see shudder under their intensity. 

_But Emrys, have you forgotten? You are never alone. Not now. Trust in him. For only he can you truly trust. He is your other half. The part that makes you whole. The enemies you face matter not. Strength your bond. Give yourself to him entirely. That is all I will say. Good luck, dear Emrys. You will need it._

With that, the girl had walked away, looking almost like she was floating, her footsteps were so light. The other Druids had communicated amongst themselves, whispering something. 

One of them had offered to let them stay the night, to dine with them for supper and rest in their clearing. But Merlin had declined. His back was stiff and tense, cold sweat beading down his back. He’d met his fair share of creepy sorcerers or sorceresses, but none held a candle to the girl he’d just spoken to. None at all. 

They’d set off soon after, Merlin determined to get as far from the camp as possible. No one argued. He had a feeling they had felt the same unease he had, though likely not as strong. Merlin had always been so much more perceptive than anyone else. His magic granted him that ability. Unnatural things always left him shaking and ill at ease. And whatever she was, that girl was not natural. 

They’d ended up riding long into the night, stomachs growling as they rode further and further, conjured light guiding their way. The guards began to grumble after an hour, then outright protest after two. By the third, nearly halfway to Camelot in only a single day, it was Arthur that muttered that they should stop and rest for the night. The chill Spring night had turned frigid, storm clouds brewing on the horizon. Would it rain? He had no idea. Probably. Knowing his luck. 

But he’d agreed to stop. Arthur had made them dinner, like usual (Merlin had had a blithe thought to learn how to cook, to ease the burden he put on his servant. Arthur would likely hate it. He liked being useful). It was incredible. Like usual. 

He could barely taste it, though, mind racing with thoughts. He volunteered for first watch, knowing he’d never be able to sleep with how his mind raced. He watched as the others settled for bed, no complaint, eyes dull. 

Soon everyone was asleep, aside from him. All but one. 

“What did the Druid girl talk to you about?” He heard a low voice murmur. He would have been surprised if he hadn’t expected it. He sighed, looking down at Arthur, who was sitting up from his bed roll, shivering lightly. The night air was so cold that even his strongest warming charm couldn’t stop the bitter wind. “She was talking to you, yeah? I remember Morgana told me once, about how magic users can communicate without talking. You looked terrified. Like you’d seen a ghost.”

Maybe he had, he thought wryly. Maybe he had. 

“She said she knew of the artifact but wouldn’t tell me. Said something about remaining ignorant, that knowledge wouldn’t help. It was just a lot of cryptic nonsense. It doesn’t matter. We have to get back to Camelot. Something is wrong. I don’t like it. We have to get back soon.”

Arthur just nodded, leaving his bedroll to crawl over to Merlin, several feet away. Merlin let out a soft noise of complaint, but said nothing as Arthur have him a look, arms wrapping around him. He felt warmer, after. 

It had taken them another day and a half to come home, the unease never lessening. The sky was full of angry grey clouds, promising rain at some point. Merlin paid it no attention as he stormed through the castle, mind focused on one thing, and one thing alone. 

Something terrible was going to happen. He couldn’t afford to be distracted any longer. Camelot needed him. His people needed him. He had no time for distractions now. 

A part of him regretted how loudly he slammed the door to the war room open, the battle jumpy men stiffening and falling into fighting stances as they faced the door as one. Most of the people in the room relaxed when they saw it was their prince. Only his father remained tense. In fact, he thought humorlessly, he seemed to stiffen even more. He slammed the bag that held the books and goods he’d taken from Xador’s cave into the table, eyes hard. 

“You put me on a wild goose chase,” he gritted, voice angry despite himself. He knew anger wouldn’t help him here. It would just make his father defensive. Case in point, the older man stiffened further, scowling. 

“I had heard reports that the Cave of Xador might have held something of use for us. I am sorry to see that I was wrong. Sha-”

“Don’t,” he warned, anger and frustration mounting in him. He hated this. He hated feeling angry in general, but especially towards his father. The king’s eyes flashed, but the man could say nothing as Merlin continued. “I’m tired of being jerked around. All I want is what is best for this kingdom. Let me help. I won’t go against you. I know what I’m doing. Don’t send me away.”

His father stared at him, eyes hard. The generals and other soldier milling around had stopped in their duties and were, surreptitiously, looking at the father and son. Good. Let them see. Maybe then his father would stop pushing him aside. Yes, he had gone against his father’s express orders. But he’d only done it for the good of Camelot. He only thought of her in his crusade. He had to protect his kingdom and her inhabitants. That was worth more than anything. 

But he couldn’t do that if he were being locked out. If he was being pushed aside. He needed to be in the midst of the action if he wanted any chance to save the kingdom he loved. He’d play nice with his father if he had to. He just couldn’t be useless during this war. He couldn’t. 

Finally, his father looked away. 

“I cannot focus on a war if I have to ensure my own son will remain loyal to me. What proof can you offer that you will remain loyal?”

His father said it low, low enough that the eavesdroppers wouldn’t be able to hear, hopefully. Merlin bit his lip. 

“I’ve already pledged myself to you. Made vows. I just want to help. I swear I will not go against your orders again. Father. Please.”

His father stared at him again. Merlin kept his gaze steady, though he made sure to not look his father in the eye. Contrary to popular belief, he did know what respect was and how to show it. Sometimes. When he wanted to. After a moment, his father sighed and gestured to a general. 

“Fine. General Fairfax. Bring him up to speed.”

With that, his father strode away, talking to the other generals in low murmurs. General Fairfax, a humorless ancient general who had no idea what the word ‘happiness’ meant, glared at him but did as the king had asked. Merlin didn’t take the glaring personally. The man’s face was frozen in the expression. Maybe he’d made that face one too many times. 

He lost all sense of humor himself after General Fairfax told him what was happening in taciturn words. In the week he’d been gone, there had been five new attacks, some simultaneous. Over a thousand sorcerers had died, many more getting gravely injured. They’d only managed to kill maybe a quarter of that many of their enemy, and they just had more and more coming. They weren’t immortal, they figured, so it couldn’t have been some bastardized version of the Cup of Life (which the high priestesses possessed, anyway, so it couldn’t be that). 

It just seemed that all magic was repelled by whatever it was they had used. It worked on all of their men. And women, which had surprised Merlin. Uther hadn’t struck him as a man who was into equality. Though, perhaps desperate times called for desperate measures, making him resort to having women soldiers. If Merlin didn’t know women to be capable, he’d likely have found it cowardly to have women fighting.

What seemed to be the most obvious thing was that they had no idea how to defeat the army. His father was using the dragons, but their might did nothing. The most they did was that they could swoop down and physically eat the enemy soldiers, as it seemed being ingested ended whatever artifact they used, most dragons disliked the taste of human flesh. His father could make them eat the enemy, as a Dragonlord, but doing so would irreparably damage the bond between them. Dragons and Dragonlords relied on trust to maintain their relationship. Even his father wouldn’t break that trust so carelessly. 

It did give them ideas about other methods for attack. Merlin had been vaguely sick when he heard the General emotionlessly explain their plan to round up magical creatures, such as griffins and wyverns (who his father could barely control, as they were similar to dragons, but not entirely alike so he couldn’t force them to do anything. Just to come or go), who did like the taste of human flesh. Merlin had had to look away at that, not wanting to be seen openly rejecting his father’s plan. 

It was horrible, though. He hated it. But he’d vowed to not go against his father, so what could he do? Once General Fairfax was done, he’d nodded tightly and had gone over to their map, which showcased where all active and former battles lied, as well as where potential future battle locations could be. 

It seemed random, he thought, looking at how spread out the locations were. Some of the towns targeted were major ones, yes, but some were small farming towns. Some were even equally Mixed, half and half sorcerer to non-magical person. It didn’t really make sense. 

The being spread out part did, he had to admit. They only had one army. Being pulled into different directions spread their army thin. His father was considering calling in armies from other kingdoms, but most of their armies were the traditional kind. While that would help far more here than their useless magic, his father was hesitant. He’d built his entire empire on removing non-magical forms of battle, calling them cowardly and immoral. Unnatural. To give in and ask for help form a traditional army… it would be a concession that his laws were not quite accurate. Were maybe- dare he say it- wrong. 

It frustrated Merlin, but he didn’t say it. Whatever. They could put all their effort into finding and destroying the artifact. Whatever. Who cared if thousands of innocent people died? Not his father, clearly. 

Merlin stayed in the war room for the rest of the day, observing his father and his orders. More reports of battles came in, little ones from the rebellion. They were taking over more and more land. With each village they conquered, they gained more people who were willing to join their cause. These new people were less skilled with blades, but any person can help make blockades and battlements. Their numbers were growing, while their own numbers were dwindling. They still had over ten thousand soldiers, but what good were they if their means of battle, if their magic, was useless? 

Eventually his father had dismissed him, shaking his head. Merlin had wanted to protest, but it was late, and he’d agreed to not go against his father’s orders. He hadn’t done much that day, had just stared and watched his father work, but that was fine. He’d gotten a feel for the rebel’s strategy. Now, if only he knew what it meant, that would be grand. 

Reluctantly, Merlin headed back to his rooms, back tense, eyes narrowed. He didn’t know much about war, though he’d been taught to wage war since he was a young child. He’d just never understood it. Why fight when compromise existed? Why send hundreds and thousands to their deaths, all for a piece of land? It’s why he privately felt he’d be a bad king. He valued human life more than a piece of land. Wasn’t that something? 

Merlin couldn’t help but smile when he entered his rooms and saw Arthur standing there, a tub in the center of the room. He never had time to clean himself properly while on the road, so he was grateful for the bath. 

“You should eat your dinner, first,” Arthur chided, though he dutifully took Merlin’s coat and helped him with his boots. Merlin rolled his eyes. 

“You always say that,” he grumbled, though he had to admit he was starving. He’d not eaten much that day, as shaken as he had still been from his meeting with the Druid girl the other day. He’d not eaten much at all since that meeting if he were being honest. It worried Arthur, the mother hen he was, but the servant hadn’t been able to do much about it while surrounded by the guards and other Mages. 

“And I’m always right,” Arthur rejoined, placing his hands on his hips, and raising an eyebrow. He looked so much like Gaius that Merlin couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Bit conceited, don’t ya think?” He joked, though he dutifully wandered over to the table where two plates had been set. He snorted at the sight. How presumptuous. 

“Is it being conceited if it’s true?” 

Merlin laughed at that, grinning at his servant. Arthur grinned back, before his face shuttered and he looked off to the side. He was momentarily confused, until the man held out a letter. 

“This came for you, while you were gone. Not sure how it made it into the castle when we’re on lockdown, but I guess it is as stubborn as its writer. I’d considered burning it but had a feeling you’d hate me if I did.”

Merlin felt his heart begin to pound as he saw the simple letter, the bold script on the front telling him immediately who had sent it. He looked at Arthur, who wasn’t looking at him; instead, he was looking to the side, eyes distant. 

“Ah,” Merlin breathed, closing his eyes. It had been a month. Gwaine was nothing if not reliable. Which was amusing. Gwaine. Reliable. 

“After dinner, alright?” He’d said, voice strained but steady. Arthur had exhaled but nodded. He took a seat at the table, pulling one of the plates close. Merlin did the same with his usual seat, the fur lined chair helping ground him. 

They didn’t speak much during dinner. Merlin had tried to talk about the war, but Arthur had asked that all war talk wait until after they’d finished eating. Merlin privately agreed. It was best not to talk about certain things while food was present. No need to lose their appetite. 

Sadly, that left things strained. The letter was burning a hole in his pocket. Even though he had his nameless thing with Arthur, he couldn’t deny how his heartbeat faster now that he had this letter. He’d missed Gwaine, he realized. Despite it all. 

After the food was finally finished, Arthur stood woodenly and grabbed the dishes. Before Merlin could call out to him, the man said he’d bring them back to the kitchen and he’d be back soon. With that, Arthur had fled, eyes shuttered. 

Merlin sighed, feeling weary. To think, two years before he’d never been even close to in a relationship. Now he had two quasi-relationships under his belt and no idea how to handle either. Wonderful. 

He figured this would be the best time to read his letter, though, without harming Arthur too much. With shaking hands, Merlin opened the plain letter, heart clenching painfully at the achingly familiar script. How many nights had he laid in bed, only a candle as light, reading words that still took his breath away? How many times had he laughed because the beautiful man had written down the most humorous anecdote about a bar fight, he’d been in, the details likely highly exaggerated? How often had he smiled happily, heart full as he thought of the man he loved, just not with his whole heart? 

Heart pounding, he read the words. 

_My dearest prince,_

_How are you doing? Hm. Wait. Is that too casual? Perhaps…_

_Dear Prince Merlin,_

_I write this letter to enquire about your health. The most unpleasant news has reached my ears and I find myself aflutter with nerves as I wonder how my dearest heart is?_

_Hm. No, that won’t do as well. Perhaps this, then?_

_Dear Merlin,_

_I’ve heard about the war and must admit that I can’t help the fear that has entered my heart at the news. In my travels, I had heard whispers of rebellions, but never thought it was anything worthwhile. Pockets of rebellion have popped up all over the kingdom since I was a child. I didn’t think it was anything more serious than that._

_I am sorry, now, for my last letter. I’d written it while drunk and melancholy. I regretted it the second I sent it, but at the same time... perhaps it is for the best. You have so much to worry about, dear heart. You shouldn’t be worried about a fool, such as myself._

_I hope that my words didn’t cause you more pain, however. That would be my last wish. To hurt you would be to hurt myself. And I’ve never been a masochist, though some pain can be most pleasurable in bed..._

_Ah, but I’m digressing. You don’t have to respond to this letter. I’m not sure why I’m writing it, other than I suppose I am afraid. Not for me. I’m not in Camelot at the moment, instead thinking it best to reside in Bayard’s kingdom for a while. Lay low._

_I’m worried for you. And that prat Arthur, I suppose. War is nothing to laugh at. I’ve seen the damage it can wrought, the horrors it creates. If I ever mattered to you at all, please just send me a letter saying if you are alright or not. That’s all I need. Something to know you’re not hurt. You don’t have to, but please..._

_I’m still here if you need me, Merlin. While I can’t keep doing our song and dance, I still care for you and don’t want to see you hurt. I truly do hope we can remain friends. Ha. How girly of me. Arthur would be so disappointed._

_Anyway, if you are worried about me, I am doing well. Staying out of Camelot for the time being, still getting into trouble. And then promptly getting out! No need to worry there. If you worry for me at all. Wouldn’t wish to presume anything._

_I should probably end this letter. I’m half drunk and sitting in my under things while in a run-down inn in the middle of nowhere. The air is chill, but the fireplace is busted in this godforsaken room. If I write any longer, I’ll start pouring my heart out like a love-sick fool. And I promised myself once I’d never be so far gone for someone to be such a thing._

_I suppose we all must break some promises, though, eh?_

_I miss you._

_Stay safe,_

_Your dearest Gwaine._

Merlin gasped once he reached the end of the letter, then went back and read through it again. Then again. And then once more. It was after the fifth read through that he’d started to memorize some of the sentences. Like ‘I suppose we all must break some promises, though, eh?’ God. What did that even mean? 

He put the letter down and stared blankly into the fire. It was raging in the hearth, the chill air a bitter enemy. He couldn’t help but imagine Gwaine, cold and alone in some inn somewhere, writing this letter in the dark of night. 

Merlin was, technically, with Arthur now. He loved Arthur with all his heart and no man could compare to the Once and Future King. But he still loved Gwaine. And maybe, if a man could come close to the magnificence that was Arthur, Gwaine came closest. 

After a few minutes of staring blankly into the fire, Merlin stood and headed to his desk. He took out a sheet of paper, using his best ink, and wrote a reply. 

It was hard, at first. He probably scrapped fifteen letters before he found the right words. And then, writing was easy. 

He didn’t think as he wrote, he just… poured out his heart. He spoke of his fear. Of his worry. Of how he didn’t know what would happen during this war, or if he was ready for the consequences to come. He wrote of how scared he was, that he would fail. 

And then he wrote of Arthur. Merlin didn’t want to hurt Gwaine, knowing that the man loved him, in his own way, but he couldn’t imagine not telling Gwaine what was occurring between him and his servant. Gwaine, of all people, deserved to know. After nine years of pining, to know he’d been right. 

It was as he had almost finished the letter, signing it with his usual flourish, that Arthur returned, eyes down and face expressionless. Merlin stared at him as the man puttered around the room. He’d been gone over an hour. He had a feeling it hadn’t taken that long to head down to the kitchen to wash some dishes. The castle was huge, yes, but not that big. 

“So. How’s Gwaine? Do I have to hunt him down and castrate him for hurting you again?” Arthur eventually said, voice even but his eyes hard as he stared to the left of Merlin’s ear. Merlin frowned, shaking his head. 

“No, don’t do that. It’s fine. Gwaine’s fine. He apologized for the timing of the last letter. He’s apparently not in Camelot at the moment, instead in Bayard’s kingdom to lay low for a while.”

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. 

“I don’t think Gwaine knows the meaning of the words ‘lay-low’,” Arthur intoned, rolling his eyes. Merlin smiled softly, nodding. 

“Oh, most definitely not. He seemed good, though. I just finished writing my response. Did he not send you a letter?” 

Arthur shrugged, at that, not meeting Merlin’s eye. Hm. Whatever. Arthur could keep his secrets if he wanted. 

“So,” Arthur said at the same time Merlin said, “do we need to talk about this?”

Arthur stared at him for a second, before shrugging. 

“What is there to talk about?” He questioned lightly, moving over to the tub (that still had not been used), and checking the temperature. 

“Arthur,” Merlin chided, standing and approaching the man. Arthur stiffened as Merlin touched his shoulder lightly, but relaxed a second later, sighing. 

“I can’t say that I don’t still love Gwaine. He means a lot to me. He helped me a lot during a time I was very confused about myself and who I was. He matters a great deal to me still,” Merlin started, pausing at the tense look on Arthur’s face, the way his eyes shuttered. Merlin sighed. 

“No relationship could work between us, though. Not long-term. He’s a wanderer. I’m not. Letters only go so far. I would still like to be his friend, but if you would rather I didn’t, I’ll leave it. I won’t send him anymore letters. But it will hurt me to do so.”

It was Arthur’s turn to sigh, the man looking at him with inscrutable eyes. Merlin held his gaze, steady. Arthur sighed again, running a hand through his hair. 

“No. No don’t… you don’t have to do that. Write him if you’d like. He’s a good friend to have, reliable in the strangest ways. If it’s not a problem to you, it’s not a problem to me.”

Merlin had a feeling Arthur was lying, but he just nodded slowly, biting his lip as he thought. He smiled when Arthur’s eyes landed on his lips, unwavering in their intensity. 

“Gwaine doesn’t hold a candle to you, Arthur. Even when I was with him, you still occupied my thoughts. He knew this. I didn’t even have to tell him. He just… knew,” Merlin muttered, pressing closer to Arthur. The servant let out a breath, eyes moving up to Merlin’s eyes. He looked for a second, then nodded. 

“Alright. Fine. I’m still not happy with him for hurting you, but fine. He’s a good man. If you want to forgive him, who am I to argue? Just be careful. I can’t see you like that again. It... god. It hurt me to see you so upset, Merlin.”

Merlin felt his heart lurch, but he smiled softly. He wrapped his arms around the man carefully. Arthur sighed, but returned the embrace, pressing the side of his head to Merlin’s. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” he muttered, pressing his lips to Arthur’s temple. Arthur shook his head, however, pulling back enough to look Merlin in the eyes. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong. I just… I just worry about you. That’s all.”

Merlin smiles dopily at that, his heart so full he thought it might burst. 

“Now, I don’t mean to offend you, but I think it might be best if you took your bath now,” Arthur continued, wrinkling his nose. Like he thought Merlin smelled. Merlin felt his mouth drop open. Excuse him?!

Arthur laughed at the offense on Merlin’s face and pulled away, practically sashaying away. Prat. 

“Plus, I did go through the effort of having the tub brought up here. You might as well put it to good use.”

“I think I’d prefer it if you joined me,” he muttered. He hadn’t meant for Arthur to hear it (so he told himself), but he adored the flush that rose on Arthur’s face, the man shooting him a heated look. He shook his head, though, a smile playing on his lips. Merlin pouted but started disrobing. He smirked as he felt eyes sharp on his body. 

The bath was relaxing. After hours upon hours on a horse back, he was lavishing in the warmth. Even more so when Arthur came over and helped him bathe, his fingers digging deep into his sore shoulders. The water was murky enough to afford him some modesty, which he wasn’t sure if he was happy about or not. After that, Arthur carefully washed his hair, making Merlin moan so prettily. He swore that if they didn’t do something soon, he was going to burst. Arthur wasn’t fairing much better, he felt. Good.

After Arthur had finished bathing him, Merlin elected to stay in the warm water, letting it sooth him. When Arthur mocked him, saying “you better not fall asleep and drown. That would be a pathetic death,” all he did was lift his hand and performed an obscene hand gesture that he’d learned from Arthur. It just made the man laugh, but Merlin didn’t care. He was so relaxed, after days of frustration and fear building in him.

It was at that thought that he remembered why he had been so tense. And, despite himself, the tension began to rise again. Everything flooded in. From his frustration at the wild goose chases, to his uncertainty with the war efforts, to his unease and fear at what the Druid Girl had told him. All of it flooded in, making him sigh as he stood and grabbed the towel Arthur had left nearby, his shoulders hunched as he exited the bath. Arthur shot him a worried look.

“We should probably talk about the war efforts,” he muttered, pulling on the clothes Arthur had laid out for him. Arthur hummed, nodding.

“We could wait. Until morning,” the man suggested, but Merlin shook his head. No. It wasn’t obscenely late yet. This was something they needed to go over soon.

So, Merlin did. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, he went over all the little details he’d learned from the war room, even the ones that made his stomach clench. He explained what the Druid Girl has said in more detail, now that they were alone. He went over everything he could think of that was important to the war they’d been forced into.

Arthur was mostly silent during his diatribe, though he did butt in every so often with questions or comments. He seemed as unnerved as Merlin did by the words the Druid Girl, as well as being as nauseated by the plans the king had for battle.

By the end, Arthur had fallen silent, his face taut as he thought about something. Merlin didn’t pry, just watched him silently as he thought.

“Merlin. You remember what I told you, about the Great Dragon? His request?”

Well, of course he did. He had wanted to question Arthur about it immediately after being told but had withheld as they had had more important things to worry about. He’d pushed it aside, but not out of mind. He nodded tightly, frowning. Arthur sighed.

“I think we might want to do it.”

Merlin let out a noise of disagreement almost immediately, before he’d even really processed the words. He’d been told, nearly all his life, that the Dragon was to be kept locked away. And while, yes, he was starting to realize his father was wrong on a lot of accounts, it was hard to get rid of the things that had been ingrained in him since birth, almost. But maybe he should listen the Arthur. He wouldn’t ask if he wasn’t certain it was the best course of action.

“Now, hold on. Look, I get it. I’m not the biggest fan of the bloody thing. Despite it being my family crest, I’ve never been a big fan of dragons. And this one is bloody annoying. But… he’s not bad. I don’t think. Also, aren’t you, like, a Dragonlord? Or whatever?”

Merlin shrugged.

“Kind of. Not really. When my father dies, the gift will be passed on to me. For now, I can just kind of... get along with dragons. They sometimes listen to me if they feel like it. More than they would a normal person. But mostly there’s not much connection there.”

“Well, still. Kilgharrah is not a bad sort. And I do think it would be cool to have a dragon on our side.”

Arthur looked almost enthused at the prospect. He had to admit, it did sound nice, as so far, their side consisted entirely of people in this room. Which, if it wasn’t clear, was only him and Arthur. The problem was-

“Dragons have no effect on the rebels, though. Their fire and magic just bounces off, like all other magic. Unless your dragon friend likes the taste of human flesh, I don’t think he’ll be that much help.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He was leaning against Merlin’s bed post now, but he straightened and headed to the wardrobe. He picked out his night gear, which he’d started storing there (!!) a little while ago. Merlin felt his heart speed up as he watched the man change, eyes lingering on the toned muscles that were on display. He dressed quickly, though. Far quicker than usual. As he approached the bed, he spoke, voice low.

“You’re right. But you’re forgetting something. Kilgharrah has foresight. He told me if we don’t release him, we will lose the war. Is that a risk we’re willing to take? What’s the worst that can happen if he’d released?”

Merlin bit his lip, thinking. It was true. What was the worst? Well…

“Arthur. My father has locked him up for over twenty years. Do you really think he’s not the slightest bit bitter over that? What if he wants revenge? I may not be on the best terms with my father, but I certainly don’t want him dead,” he pointed out, crossing his arms. Arthur hesitated at that but nodded slowly. He took a seat on the bed, beside Merlin. Almost despite himself, Merlin let his head fall against Arthur’s sturdy shoulder, sighing in mild contentment. No matter how hard things were, at least he had this.

“We can make him promise. That he won’t enact revenge. We have a lot over him. Besides. Your father is a Dragonlord. He’d be able to prevent it, right? If anything did happen?”

Merlin nodded absently. Probably. A minute passed as he thought.

“Alright. I trust you, Arthur. If you want to do this, if you think it’s the right choice, I’ll follow your lead. But I’ll hold off my final judgement until I meet the Dragon. I barely remember my last meeting with him, as young as I was. All I remember was how large he was, how unnatural. The feeling was worse than with other dragons, who mostly feel like family. Kilgharrah… he felt different. Not bad. But not really good, either.”

Arthur snorted, a crooked smile on his mouth. “I think that describes the fucking beast perfectly.”

Merlin let out a laugh at that, shaking his head. He then sighed once more, stretching his limbs. Just then, the bells chimed, twelve ringing out. Ah. Shit. It was past midnight.

“We should get to sleep,” Merlin muttered, a yawn following. Arthur chuckled, looking at Merlin with soft eyes, but he nodded. He scooted down the bed and pulled the covers down. He lied on his back and held open his arms, like usual.

It was incredible, he felt, being back in Arthur’s arms again. After a week on the road, unable to be as close as he desperately desired, this felt like heaven. He sighed happily, burrowing closer to the warm heat. Arthur chuckled again, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head.

“Go to sleep, Merlin. Sleep well,” the man murmured, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. Merlin smiled, his eyes drooping, like usual.

“You, too. Get some sleep. Sleep well.”

With that, he drifted off, dreaming of dragons and fire, a town screaming for help as hellfire rained down from above.

Needless to say, he didn’t sleep well that night.

He supposed not even bonds could get rid of all nightmares.

The strangest part was...

He could almost pretend that he’d heard a voice calling him.

His name. From deep, deep down. Within the bowels of the castle itself.

_Merlin_.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

The sight of the pitch-black darkness before him was unsurprisingly familiar, as often as he’d made this trek. Yet his heart pounded, much as it had the first time, so long ago it seemed ancient. He’d been young, then. Foolish. Naive.

He wasn’t, any longer.

This time was different, though. This time was not familiar, not routine.

This time, the Prince of Camelot stood by his side, shaking with more than cold, eyes worried as he looked down at the inky darkness below.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” The prince muttered, for what felt like the thousandth time. Arthur had to force himself not to roll his eyes. Merlin didn’t like that, much.

“No, _Mer_ lin. I’m not sure. But we have no other choice,” he rejoined, like he had the previous nine-hundred and ninety-nine times. Merlin sighed, shaking his head. Like usual.

“Alright. Alright. Fine. I don’t like this,” he warned. Again. Arthur couldn’t help himself from rolling his eyes. Of course, Merlin didn’t like this. He didn’t like anything, he thought meanly. He then rescinded it a second later, not wanting to be at odds with the prince, even in his own mind.

It was just past sundown. Merlin had spent the entirety of the day in the war room, going over strategy and the newest attacks. There’d been two, that day. The castle had been aflutter.

Arthur had learned, to his horror, that while they’d been gone the king had slain a twentieth of the servants. Why? Arthur had no idea, other than paranoia. The rest of the servants were tense. Rigid. They didn’t speak to him, knowing his closeness to the prince (though they still had the air of being distant in front of most others, he was still the personal servant to the prince. Even if he were against the royal, it was possible he’d let something slip, either accidentally, or on purpose, to get ahead). He’d mourned hard when he learned that a sort of friend of his had been amongst those murdered. He had been a good person, his mind a little gone, but he was pleasant to talk to. Simple, yes, but harmless. That the king would kill such a man…

It angered him. Right and truly. He’d never felt such hatred for another human being. The king was determined to make enemies where none existed. If there hadn’t been traitors in the serving class already, there was now. After all, why deny the rebellion in fear of death, when you would just be killed for no reason anyway? At least with the rebellion, there was a chance of being free, and if one died, they died for a purpose. Not weak and pitiful, on a pyre or chopping block. They could die for a higher power, for the chance of their people, their children and loved ones, being free.

Arthur knew, if he didn’t have Merlin and his destiny, he’d have gladly joined the rebellion, fighting side by side with his father, heart beating with pride and honor. No, he did not like needless, innocent death. But war was war. One did not stray from killing just to appease their morality. One did what they just to survive. And could a magic user truly be considered innocent, if they stood by and did nothing as thousands of innocents died before them each day? It was them or us, he’d have felt. Either the innocent magicians died, or the innocent non-magic folks. A life for a life.

An eye for an eye.

What a blind world they lived in.

Thankfully, for them all, they had Merlin. They even had Arthur, wherever he fit in this story. And he’d never have to worry about what he might have done, had fate turned out different. Had he never left Fayford, had stayed there all this time. Had he joined his father, instead of Merlin. That future, if it ever existed, didn’t here. No point dwelling upon it.

He had convinced Merlin to join him in the cave, being mindful to not make it sound like he was forcing the man. The bond still confused him, more so now with the new ability they apparently had, but he didn’t want to take the choice from Merlin. Not on something as important as this.

Merlin had resisted. Had hemmed and hawed. Had pouted (not a frown, regardless of what the prince demanded). He’d even scowled so prettily.

But he agreed. Had agreed before any of the protesting, which baffled Arthur. Why complain when you were already planning on doing what you complained about? Illogical. But that was his Merlin. Contrary to the very last.

Now here they stood, frozen on the top step, chill spring air still and stiff around them. Merlin looked almost terrified. Like this was something out of a dream. _Or a nightmare_ , he amended, worry filling him.

“Are you alright, Merlin?” He whispered, as soothing as he could make it through his nerves. Merlin started, eyes wide as a deer’s as he looked at him, nearly terrified. The man gulped, nodding his head.

“Yeah. Yeah. I just… the last time I was here. So long ago… well. Everything fell apart after that meeting. Father grew distant. The world grew colder. I never had any friends, not anymore. It- it was the beginning of the end, I guess,” the boy admitted, voice low and uncertain. He bit his lip, worrying at it incessantly, like it was the tenderest veal. Arthur sighed and approached the man.

“I know, Merlin. And I’m sorry. Do you want to go back?”

Part of him hated giving the out, had wanted to just say that they had to do this. But he couldn’t be so ruthless, not when his beloved was so upset. Merlin shook his head, however, eyes meeting his. He smiled slightly.

“No. No, it’s fine. Just being silly. Let’s go, shall we?”

Before Arthur could say anything, Merlin strode down the stairs, magic light leading him down. Arthur hesitated for a split second before following himself.

“Well, well. What a surprise, young warlock! How many moons has it been since you last graced me with your presence? I’ve called to you often, yet you pretend not to hear. I’d be almost insulted. It is rude to not answer the call of your kin, after all.”

Arthur could see the stiffness in Merlin’s back, the breathy gasp the man let out as he stared, wide eyed, at the Dragon. Kilgharrah, in his way, was staring down impudently at the prince, like he was an unpleasant bug. Hardly the look a beast who was looking at his potential savior should give.

“Must you do this?” He heard himself ask, almost surprised at his daring. Near two years in the presence of the Dragon had loosened his tongue. He didn’t fear the beat any longer. Not truly. The Dragon needed him far more than he needed the beast. In fact, in the past two years, the Dragon had only actually helped him maybe two or three times. He mostly came down here for… honestly, he had no idea. Destiny, perhaps. Fate. Decidedly not the company, he thought drily, looking at the Dragon.

“I will do as I please, little king. You’ve left me waiting long enough. Have you thought on my offer?”

Arthur snorted, entering the cave proper, passing the still frozen prince. He thought about touching the man, but he decided against it. The Dragon would just mock him if he did, bastard he was.

“Yeah. We have some conditions, first, should we even entertain the idea.”

White steam released from the Dragon’s nostrils, the beast clearly unhappy with the words. He said nothing, though. Just bowed his head and waited.

Arthur glanced over at Merlin, but as the man was still white and pale, he figured he’d be the one doing the talking. Fun. He loved it when Kilgharrah yelled at him.

“We demand that, should we free you, you swear to not seek revenge on anyone. Not the citizens of Camelot, not the Nobles. Not even the king, himself. King Balinor, that is,” he adds, lest the Dragon purposefully misunderstand his words. The Dragon lets out more steam, though it was darker. Smoke, then. He was angry. The Dragon didn’t reply, though, just bowed his head again. Arthur continued.

“You also must vow that you will not betray us. We will trust you, but you must trust us as well. Give us no reason to doubt you. I will not ask you to speak to us plainly, as I am sure doing such a thing would actually kill you, but we ask that you inform us of approaching danger, even if cryptically. These are our terms. Do you agree?”

The Dragon stayed quiet for a long minute, eyes shrewd and sharp as he stared at Arthur. Arthur stared calmly back. He was not afraid. Not anymore. The Dragon turned his eyes to Merlin, then, the prince squaring his shoulders as he stood up straight, eyes shuttering as he stared at the Dragon. He wasn’t wearing his crown, for once. It would do him no good, here.

“You ask for much, little king. And if I deny it? If I refuse?”

Arthur shrugged, showing more nonchalance than he truly felt. While he portrayed himself as calm and collected, inside he was shaken.

“Then we will not free you.”

The Dragon roared at this, rearing back. Merlin gasped, stepping back himself. Arthur didn’t even flinch. He had expected it. He may even have rolled his eyes a bit. The Dragon’s theatrics were commonplace to him, now.

“if you wish to be freed, then follow our requests!” He yelled, feeling annoyed. How dare the Dragon ask such a big favor, then deny them the security they required from such an act.

“Do you not understand what I told you, Arthur Pendragon?! If you fail to free me, Camelot will fall! Your destiny will never prevail! Is that a risk you are willing to take?”

“And you give me no reason to trust you! I ask you simple requests. They should be easy if you have our best interest at mind. But you refuse. Why? If you long to be free, then take our deal. It is nonnegotiable.”

With confidence he wasn’t sure he felt, Arthur turned from the Dragon and walked to the entrance of the cave. Merlin, who had gotten over his shock, followed.

“Perhaps you need time to mull it over. We will go, then. Let you think. As you said, we haven’t much time. Think quick.”

With that, he stepped into the stairway, foot on the first step. It was as he put weight on it, the ancient stone not giving an inch, that the impetuous voice called them back. Arthur had to hide his self-satisfied smirk as he turned, lifting an eyebrow loftily.

The Dragon was staring at him, expression unreadable. It unnerved him more than the beast’s rage ever had. He hated not being able to read someone.

“You play this game very well, young Pendragon. It takes some men decades to learn to be so proficient with wordplay. Perhaps, you will make a good king yet. I’d been beginning to doubt.”

Liar, Arthur thought, shaking his head minutely. If the Dragon has doubted his destiny, he’d have known. Kilgharrah rarely, if ever, kept his annoyance from him.

He didn’t say that aloud, though, and just inclined his head. The Dragon let out a puff of smoke.

“Very well. I will agree to your terms. I will not seek revenge on my imprisonment. I will not betray you, as long as neither of you betray me. And I will be as plain with my warnings as you humans require, needing everything laid out for you on a silver platter before you can sup. On these words, I vow, invoking the right of Elissios, The Eternal, bounding my word into law. Does this satisfy, little king? Young warlock?”

Arthur nodded tightly. He wasn’t entirely pleased, but he’d agreed to the terms, hadn’t he? And he was nothing if not a man with honor. He’d honor his word.

However…

“No.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. He turned to Merlin quick, seeing the narrowed eyes, the anger. Merlin was unhappy with something. They’d agreed on the terms earlier, though. Had he not done exactly as they had rehearsed?

“No?!” The Dragon roared, anger palpable. Merlin didn’t step back. Any fear or apprehension he’d originally felt was gone, cold fire in its place. It took Arthur’s breath away. He couldn’t help it. Merlin was just breathtaking like this. Jaw set, eyes hard… he was no longer as scrawny as he’d been when they’d met, lean muscle lining his arms and abdomen. He was like a romance novel hero (not that he’d ever read a romance novel, mind…)

“No. I do not trust you.”

Kilgharrah breathed fire, just a puff of it, but Merlin did not back down. He stood his ground. Eventually, the Dragon calmed, though his eyes were enraged.

“I did exactly as your paramour requested, young warlock. I made a vow, invoking the name of the first Great Dragon. What more do you want? Are you as honorless as your father, then, making promises and breaking them like glass?”

Merlin scowled, looking away. He composed his expression a second later and turned back.

“No. But you may be. You didn’t repeat the vow back as told. Don’t think I didn’t notice. If you want me help, then you must vow, on the first Great Dragon, that you will cause no harm to my father, King Balinor Emrys, The Powerful. Not through actions, not through deed, not through words given to another or through any other means. No harm, no death. Use my words exactly, or else I will not free you. Nor will I ever. Arthur trusts your word that we need you for this upcoming battle, but I do not. Not while you have a motive that I cannot trust. Vow you will not harm my father, the current king of Camelot, or I will leave you here to rot.”

Arthur was impressed. Not many men could say such insolent words, inspire the enraged fuming of a Great Dragon, yet not even flinch. He didn’t think even a hair went out of place. The Dragon, to his credit, did not breathe fire towards them. He was a highly intelligent creature, if deadly proud. He knew his only chance of escape was the man before him. He wouldn’t risk that. Not for anything.

Not even revenge, Arthur mused, as the Dragon calmed himself once more, though his golden eyes bled fury. Oh, good that the Dragon needed them, or Merlin (and quite possibly him, too) would have been long dead.

“I see the apple does not fall far from the tree, Mighty Emrys. Distrust was the downfall of your father, his fear leading him to ruin. He was a great man once, the greatest of the Dragonlords. And now, not even his son follows him loyally. Do not allow yourself to fall down his paths, young warlock. They are not ones to tread lightly.”

Merlin clenched his jaw, shaking his head violently.

“No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to bring up my father like that, don’t get to compare me to him. I may not trust him like I once did, but he is still my father. I love him. He has good within him. I won’t allow you to harm him. I will not free you unless I am certain you will not. So, vow, using my words exactly, or I will not free you. This is the offer. No negotiations. Take it or leave it.”

The Dragon stared at Merlin, for long minutes. Two minutes passed, then five. Arthur was starting to lose track of the time, his internal count growing bored of the monotony, when the Dragon spoke, voice almost amused.

“You impress me, young warlock. You are far different than you would have been, had this world never come to pass. I cannot tell if this is a good thing, or not. But fine. I will abide by your rules, though it galls me to do so. I will not harm, nor kill, your father, little prince. Not through word, nor through deed or action, or any other method. Not even through inaction, though that was not part of your bargain. I will not save his life, but nor will I blindly allow him to die if it is easily within my power to save him. That, Warlock, I give to you, to show my goodwill. But, before I bind myself, I must get something from you in return. Nothing comes for free, after all.”

Merlin clenched his jaw further, his cheek bones jutting out like the deadly cliffs of Moher he’d seen but once, years and years before, on a trip along the sea, to a fishing village where a cure for his sister’s severe illness resided. Like cut glass. He nodded, though.

“Tell me your condition and I will consider it.”

The Dragon smiled, as unnatural as always. He seemed amused, now. Bastard.

“You must promise to never betray me or any of my ilk. Not like your father did. He will die one day, though not through any deed of my own. His power will pass to you. You must vow to never abuse the power of a Dragonlord, not for any reason. Not over me, nor over any of my kin. If you demand I spare your father, then you must spare my kin as well. Do we agree?”

Merlin took a deep breath and let it out, considering. Arthur was starting to feel awkward. He’d been almost ignored in the heated debate that was occurring before him. He was almost tempted to just… leave. But he wouldn’t. He wasn’t a coward.

“Fine. But you make your vow first. I vow that I will make mine after yours, in the grave of my mother.”

“You will have to swear better than on that for my satisfaction on your end of the bargain, Warlock. But I will agree. To the words I have spoken earlier, I bind them to law, invoking the right of Elissios, The Eternal. No harm shall come to your father, not through actions or inactions of my own. This is law. Now, uphold your end of the bargain, Merlin. Or your destiny ends here.”

Merlin scowled at that but nodded dutifully.

“Fine. Oh, Mighty Dragon, fiercest of his kind. I vow, on my honor and my magic, on the kingdom that I reside, that I will never betray a dragon, great or small, so long as they do not outwardly betray me first. I will never abuse the power of a Dragonlord, no matter the circumstances, when my birthright comes. This, I vow. It is law.”

Arthur couldn’t feel magic. Not really. Merlin’s only. But even he felt the power in the air, swirling around both Dragon and future Dragonlord. Magic had bound their words. Hm. Were the Dragon and Merlin now bound like he and Merlin were? He shuddered at the thought. Likely not. He hoped.

The Dragon grinned, a tension that Arthur hadn’t realized the beast had been holding all those years finally released. Not entirely, no. But much less than before.

“Now, then. It is time to put word to action. Free me, young Warlock, or else prove yourself honorless and ignoble. I can provide you the power you will need. Do you agree?”

A second passed. Merlin hesitated.

“Yes.”

With that, the Dragon beckoned the prince forward. Arthur could only watch, dumb, as Merlin strode forward with his back straight and his head held high. Every inch the prince he was. And then…

Hm.

The Dragon, well...

_Breathed_ on him.

Alright. Okay. Life was weird. Why not, right? Magic was weird and nothing made sense anymore. Not since he’d set foot inside Camelot, young and foolishly naive.

After that, Merlin went down the roughhewn steps to the lower part of the cave. Arthur hadn’t even known the stairs had existed. Hm. Perhaps he should become more observant.

Arthur shifted awkwardly on his feet as he tried to determine what to do. The Dragon wasn’t looking at him, staring at the man who Arthur assumed was breaking the chain free from the Dragon’s leg.

A minute passed. Then-

“Finally!” The Dragon roared, surging up in a powerful blast of wind. It almost knocked Arthur down, though he managed to ground himself at the last second. It was unpleasant, though, dust that had settled into the cracks in the ground blown up by the powerful gale. This proved to him that the Dragon hadn’t been using even half his strength all those times before.

Arthur could only watch as the Dragon soared up, to the ceiling, past where he usually was forced to stop, chain too short for more distance. The Dragon laughed, loud and long, finally free.

It… okay. So, Arthur had never really _liked_ Kilgharrah. The Dragon annoyed him to no end and was beyond condescending.

Yet…

It had hurt him, somewhere deep, to see such a proud and powerful creature contained so cruelly. Especially when his only crime was speaking the truth. Or the truth as he saw it. It wasn’t fair. Nor was it right. And the more he learned of Dragonlords and their bond with dragons, though his knowledge was still limited, he realized how grave a betrayal Balinor had committed. Kilgharrah has likened the bond he had with Merlin to the bond he shared with a Dragonlord. If that was the case, then the betrayal must have felt so sharp to him. Arthur’s heart ached at just the thought of Merlin doing such a thing to him. It wouldn’t happen, though. He trusted Merlin entirely.

The Dragon stopped, though he still flew in the air, powerful wings beating against the formerly stagnant air.

“I will meet you again, little king and young warlock. Should you have need of me, call. I will return to you when the time is right, otherwise. I owe you much. Both of you. Farewell, for now.”

With that, the Dragon flew off, through the hole in the cave above, into the night.

Arthur had no idea how the creature expected to go through the city without being spotted, but whatever. He’d done his duty. The rest was up to the beast, now.

“Well. That was eventful,” Merlin intoned, having walked back up the stairs at some point, making Arthur cracked up for some reason. He laughed, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe confusion. Maybe he’d gone mad. Who knew?

Merlin joined in, though, so maybe he was mad, too. It made him laugh harder.

Eventually the laughter faded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. The cave was dark, the moon only half full, barely giving any light. Merlin’s light was faded, his attention not on it at the moment. It made the room seem somber. Like a tomb. He shivered, making the decision to leave as soon as he could.

“We should go,” he voiced aloud, startling Merlin slightly. The man gazed at him blindly but nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

The pair exited the cavern quickly, the door locking behind them with a sense of finality. He’d never return there, he realized. He had never felt so relieved. The cavern had unnerved him from the very first time he’d set foot in there, damp and cavernous as it was.

Later, they would learn that Kilgharrah had been spotted in his escape, the king apoplectic in his rage. He’d attempted to call the Dragon back, to force him back into solitude, but the Dragon never came. Sometime over the past twenty-two years, the beast had learned to overcome the call of the Dragonlord. Arthur privately felt glad for him. No creature, not even ones most foul, deserved to be enslaved to a being that only would abuse it. Twenty odd years in solitude for a crime that wasn’t a crime. Good to Kilgharrah for breaking his own chains.

Later, the king would intensify his crusade, his eyes ragged, beard and hair unkempt. He looked more a man who’d lost his senses than a proud, noble king.

Later, Merlin would press against him, breathing heavily, shaking from the nightmare that woke him, one of fire and death and destruction. Merlin would ask if it was worth it. If the price of Kilgharrah’s freedom was worth the potential cost.

Yes, Arthur had decided. After all, he knew what it was like, to live chained and diminished because of the doings of an unjust king.

Later, this would happen. Soon, yes.

But now?

Now, Arthur walked alongside Merlin, not having to sneak around with the prince of Camelot by his side. They walked close, but not too close, touching but not pressed against one another. So close and still so far.

Now, Arthur would think of all he had shared with the Dragon. Months and years of visiting, of being frustrated, but always, infallibly, returning. Thought of the staff the Dragon had blessed, so long ago, which now resided beneath a mountain north of Fayford, awaiting the day its true master came calling. Thought of a favor given, the repayment not demanded for years yet.

Now…

Now, he wondered, if perhaps over all this time… if maybe, well… perhaps...

He had maybe befriended an old, ancient, cantankerous Dragon.

Perish the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kilgharrah is free!! :-D


	30. The Battle of Camelot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!!!!
> 
> So this is a big chapter!! Like, real big. This was based off an episode, I'm sure y'all will be able to tell which based on one of the plot points I used. I did actually proof read this one a few weeks ago, so it should hopefully not have too many errors, I hope. I start In Media Res (meaning in the middle of the action) before going back and explaining, so if you're a bit confused at first, don't worry, I explain quickly. 
> 
> Just a warning, some of the tags are in use here, so be warned about that. I won't say what exactly, to not spoil too much, but just putting that out there.
> 
> Anyway, I mentioned last chapter that I was writing an Avatar the Last Airbender fic. Well, I published the first chapter yesterday! You can go check it out if you'd like. It's about Lu Ten, Iroh's son, secretly being an earth bender but only learning it after he's at the siege of Ba Sing Se. ^-^
> 
> Enjoy!

Merlin stared dimly at the fires that still burned bright over Camelot, the echoes of the screams still haunting him, even in the resounding silence that surrounded him. His heart was frozen, his breath was thick, and nothing made sense. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t feel. 

Camelot had fallen. 

And there was nothing he could do to fix it. 

To think, only two and a half weeks ago he’d freed that dragon, his mind frozen with the fear of what he had done. 

He’d been terrified that he’d made the wrong choice for hours after, all the way until Arthur had sighed and pulled him close, shaking his head. 

“It’ll be fine, Merlin. He made a vow, yeah? I don’t quite get you sorcerers and your obsessions with vows, but that means something. Yeah?” 

Yeah. Something. But vows could be broken. He hadn’t made a loyalty bond between him and the Dragon, not like he and Arthur had. He’d just bound the Dragon to his word. But was he powerful enough to tame a dragon to his will, let alone a Great one? He was just a sorcerer. Yes, he was a Dragonlord by blood, but he wouldn’t inherit his father’s power until the man himself died. The most he had influence over a dragon was a slight urging. A bit of a pull, but easily ignored by the endlessly powerful dragons. 

He had to trust Arthur, here. And don’t get him wrong, he did. Really. Truly. But… well. Arthur had been wrong before. And Merlin couldn’t help how he feared this would be the same thing. It wasn’t fair, he knew. After all, now that he knew the full truth, he couldn’t blame Arthur for wanting to believe the best of his father. Merlin was more guilty of that than most. He just… 

It was hard. 

It got even harder after the reports came in the next day, of a dragon being spotted exiting the caverns below. It made sense. Obviously, a dragon that big would be seen exiting the castle. It just… he’d hoped that no one would notice. 

His father had been apoplectic. Spitting mad, hair ragged and beard not trimmed. The king had been slowly getting shaggier, but his father had never looked less put together. More unkempt. It had unnerved him in ways he couldn’t even begin to express. 

More than that, more than his fear of the Dragon, there were the other problems that made him wary and afraid. Problems that had happened while he and Arthur had been gone, away to that damned cave. 

Twenty-five servants. Twenty-five fucking servants. He’d been gone _one week_ and his father had managed to kill twenty-five servants. For no reason. Their trial? A laugh. Barely there. 

The worst part was that he hadn’t even noticed, at first. What did that say about him, that he didn’t notice that over twenty servants had suddenly vanished? Yes, the castle housed hundreds of servants, but he’d actually known a few of the servants who’d been executed. Had spoken to them. They weren’t guilty. None of them were, he’d be willing to bet. Like Adam hadn’t been guilty. Like the majority of the executed citizens over the past twenty-two years hadn’t been. 

He had had to fight to stop himself from racing to his father and screaming. Accusing. _How dare you?! How dare you kill those people? What of their loved ones? Their families? Have you no heart?!_

But he did not fancy the idea of being thrown in jail again. He couldn’t help anyone down there. So, he’d bit his tongue, heart dead, eyes hard. Just when he thought his father couldn’t disappoint him more...

Worse, somehow, than that was how Morgana took the information. Or, rather, how Freya took how Morgana took it. 

Apparently, upon figuring out what had happened, Morgana had gone deathly quiet. She’d finished eating the light dinner she and Freya typically shared after the family dinner, before excusing herself to the training grounds. Freya had offered to accompany her, but the Mage had just smiled tightly and politely refused. 

Freya had cried as she told the tale, her face buried in his shoulder. It had shocked him to realize just how long it had been since he’d last spoken to his sister. Too long. Holding her in his arms, which once had been a near daily occurrence, as the girl was very tactile, felt almost strange. 

“I don’t know to reach her, Merlin. I’m trying. I’m trying.”

It broke his heart to see the girl he considered his sister cry so brokenly. To be so very worried. He’d told her about his conversation with the Mage, as well as that he’d asked Arthur for his help, but he sadly couldn’t give her any new information. They knew the woman was upset about the going ons. How they fixed it was the problem. 

All in all, things had been bad. Probably with a capital B, Bad. The only good thing was, like usual, Arthur. But even that was getting strained as two weeks passed, and more and more rebel attacks occurred. 

And then no rebels attack occurred. 

He honestly had no idea which was worse. The constant, daily (sometimes twice daily) attacks, or the fact they’d abruptly ended. His father had hated it. His unkempt look only intensified, until he looked like a man who lived in a cave. Not a king. Perhaps that was what terrified Merlin most of all. His father hated showing any hint of weakness, ever. That he was allowing himself to look so ragged…

Needless to say, things had not gone well for those two and a half weeks. 

They’d started reaching their head two days before. 

Merlin could still remember the tension in the war room, his father pacing. His father never paced. Not in front of others, at least. It was a weakness, he’d said, when he’d caught Merlin doing it once. Showed that one was nervous, or something. Not befitting of a prince. Or a king, he thought privately, frowning at the man. 

“Has there been any news about the rebels? At all?” His father had bit out, hands clenched. The Generals milling around shot a nervous glance at one another, before shaking their head. It had been two days since they’d last heard word from the rebellion. The entirety of the previous week there had been at least two attacks a day, of varying degrees of power. The rebels had taken over almost all of the outlying mixed villages, their numbers growing by the day. With each village they attacked, their numbers grew, the non-magical people joining in their cause. They’d overthrown a few of the reform camps, as well. It did not bode well for them. 

For them to stop, so abruptly...

“There’s been no word, your majesty. Not a hint of them,” one of the braver generals said. His father growled, running a hand through his hair. 

“Then we need to prepare the castle. There’s no saying what they’ll do. Close the gates entirely. No one comes in or out.”

That would cause problems, Merlin knew. The magical people who weren’t killed in the battles were fleeing, most of them coming to the citadel for protection. They’d been accommodating, accepting the sorcerers and providing for them, but they were running out of space. And if they closed the gates, then all the people who were arriving would be locked outside. Merlin hated it but could say nothing in response. He was already on such thin ice with his father. He was sure if he went against a single order his father gave, he’d be sent back to the dungeons so fast. 

It was now April, the days and the nights growing warmer, but the bitter rains continued to fall. It had been thundering that day, Merlin knew, his heart aching inside his chest for the people they were going to force to stay out in the downpour. He wanted to argue. He really did. It just wouldn’t have mattered. 

“Right away, sire,” a General said, barking orders at one of his lackeys. A few young men march away, off to shut the city down. Merlin bit his tongue but couldn’t help it when he spoke. Fuck. 

“Are you sure that is wise, my king? We still have refugees coming from all over the kingdom. If we close the gates, they’ll have nowhere to go. They’d be slaughtered if the rebels attack the castle.”

His father shook his head, shooting him a glare. 

“We have no other choice, Prince Merlin. We need to prepare for siege, just in case. We have no idea what these bastards are preparing.”

Merlin bit his tongue and nodded. He understood, really, he did. It didn’t mean he had to like it. His father turned then, addressing another general. 

“What of the new recruits? How is their training coming along?”

The General shook his head, sighing. 

“They’re still far from ready, but they know how to fight. They can hold their own. If needed, they can fight.”

His father nodded, eyes dark, mouth tight. 

“Alright. Have them stationed around the perimeter of the castle. They’ll act as first defense.”

Merlin had looked up at that, eyes wide. His father wasn’t looking at him, eyes hard on the General. Merlin had accidentally let out a noise of complaint, his father’s eyes shooting to him instantly, not an ounce of fatherly love in them. It had made him feel cold and sick. It still did, remembering it. Even after all that had happened, that look managed to chill him the most. 

“Is there a problem, Prince Merlin?”

Merlin knew he should have bit his tongue and just gone along with his father’s plan. Knew that saying anything against it would just get him in trouble. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t say nothing. 

“They’re new recruits. If you put them on the front line, they’ll be slaughtered,” Merlin stressed, eyes intent on his father. The king just stared, uncaring, back. 

“They’ll give the more experienced soldiers time to prepare their attacks. If they die, then they die with honor, protecting their land and their people. They’ll die as heroes.”

Merlin wanted to protest. To say that it wasn’t right, that they couldn’t do such a thing to the brave men who volunteered to fight for their kingdom. But he’d already said too much. He could see how his father glared at him and had realized that, if he had pressed, he would have been sent to the dungeons again. And there was nothing he could do down there. 

And so, despite how it made his chest ache, he’d just bowed his head, conceding. He hated it, but contrary to what Arthur would say, he wasn’t an idiot. Nor was he (that) rash or reckless. He knew how to keep his tongue when needed. He’d had to learn, with his father. 

He didn’t say anything, though. Not negative, or positive. He couldn’t go against it, but neither could he bring himself to verbally go along with it. His father watched him for a second longer, before nodding. 

“Very well. Station the new recruits, then prepare the rest of the soldiers for battle. Merlin, are you and your Mages ready to fight?” 

Merlin had nodded, straightening his back. He put the plan with the new recruits out of his mind as he gave his report about his Mages. He’d been leading the Mages since he’d been eighteen, training them himself, once his training had completed. He trusted them all impeccably. They were the best sorcerers in the land. While offensive magic didn’t work against the rebels, some defensive did, such as shield charms or defense walls. Not for long, as the rebels would be able to break through after a few seconds, but it was good enough to get civilians out of the line of fire long enough to escape. His Mages had been trained for years with both offensive and defensive magic. If anyone could hold off the rebels for any amount of time, it would be them. 

They spent the next several hours planning for potential siege, battering down their defenses. The castle itself was their biggest asset. If anything would protect them, it would be that. As long as their enemy didn’t know about the castle’s siege tunnels, that was. The plans for them were located in the vaults beneath the castle, however. He had the only set of keys, and he had made sure to keep them on him at all times. The only time they weren’t on his belt was when he was asleep, but then he put a strong spell on them. Plus, both he and Arthur slept in his room now; surely one of them would wake if someone snuck in? 

He had also entered the vaults a few days before the rebels stopped attacking, his most trusted Mages with him, to make sure that nothing had been taken. The king had apparently heard word that one of the servants had been seen poking around down there. His father had grown paranoid, ordering Merlin to check the vaults, sentencing the servant to death. Nothing had been taken, and he’d secured the siege plans with Morgana’s help. After that they’d locked the vaults up tight, Merlin putting the strongest locking charm he knew on top of the regular lock. It would prevent magic users from entering the vault easily. So, he doubted that those plans were taken. They’d be fine. Sure, they’d likely run out of food and water after days of an endless siege, but hey. What did that matter? 

The two days following the siege preparations were tough. Magic users were all terrified, soldiers running around the castle, as well at the upper and lower town. The non-magical people, servants mostly, all seemed nervous. For good reason, Merlin privately thought. His father was losing it, he felt. There had been no indication that the rebels were intending to attack the castle. Who knew how long they’d be trapped under siege order, before the enemy even arrived? They weren’t fully in siege, accepting incoming supplies under high alert, but no one was allowed in or out of the city, not even with permission. No communication was allowed, either. That had made Merlin a little upset, as he’d been writing Gwaine a few times in the past couple weeks, the man prompt with his letters. He’d been able to get a letter out before the closure of the city, explaining that they were closing off the city and that he’d not be able to write for a while, he feared. 

And then he’d woken that morning, Arthur warm around him, to the sound of the warning bells. And he knew what was happening. 

“Get up, Arthur, get up,” he hissed, pushing against his not quite lover. Arthur was out of bed a moment later, cursing as he put on the clothes he had set out for that morning. Merlin did the same, changing at record speed. His mind was racing, groggy but somehow wide awake. 

“Get to your room at Gaius’s. If it’s the rebels, you’ll need your sword,” he told Arthur, heart pounding. Arthur nodded, eyes serious. “When you are done, meet me at the throne room. Father will be there if there is truly a siege going on. I’m sure of it.”

Arthur nodded again, before he went over to his desk, grabbing the box Merlin kept there, under a glamour, so that no one but he or Merlin could see it. 

“Alright. Take this, it should act as some protection. You remember what I showed you?”

Merlin nodded tightly as he took the hilt of the ruby dagger, his palms sweating. Since Arthur could no longer practice his sword play at night (which Arthur had admitted to doing, only a little shamefaced, a few weeks prior), he had taken to showing Merlin how to properly use the dagger he’d gotten on his twenty-first birthday. Merlin was nowhere near proficient, but he was good enough to hold his own if he had to get away. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, hoped that the warning bell was for something else, but somehow… somehow, he doubted it. 

Running out the room, he and Arthur split up to head to their respective destination, Arthur to his room, and Merlin to the throne room. It made his heart pound to be separate from Arthur in a time like this, but he had to hope that the man would be okay. If the rebels were attacking, surely Uther wouldn’t kill his own son? Yes, there was a lot of uncertainty in war, but the rebels never seemed to hurt non-magical people. Arthur would, hopefully, be safe. 

The halls were littered with people, some shouting, some deathly silent; all looking terrified or nervous. Most were running, anxiety filling their pace. Merlin caught a guard by the arm and asked him the question he least wanted to know the answer to:

“What is going on?”

The guard looked at him, face grim and pulled taut. 

“The rebels are attacking the castle. They got past the gates. They’re in the citadel. The city is overrun. The servants have turned on us, fighting with makeshift weapons and stones. Your father has called for evacuation, but the siege tunnels are surrounded. Someone knew their location.”

Oh. Wonderful. It was worse than he thought. 

Feeling vaguely sick, he let the guard go and watched with sightless eyes as the man ran off, on whatever duty he’d been given. It wasn’t until a guard almost ran into him that he jolted out of his thoughts and flew down the hall, heart pounding as he raced for the throne room. His father would be there. It was the most reinforced room. He had to be. 

How had the rebels gotten past the walls? How had they entered the castle? And how did they know the location of their siege tunnels? He’d just checked the plans five days before! His key had not been disturbed! He’d secured the area! The only person other than himself to even see the plans had been…

Morgana, he thought, heart pounding. She’d taken a look at the plans, long and hard. He hadn’t thought anything of it, at the time. Curiosity, nothing more. She was Freya’s lover. Arthur’s sister. 

Wait...

Arthur’s _sister_. 

Merlin almost stopped dead in his tracks at the thought. He couldn’t, though, as he heard the first sounds of battle, men and women alike screaming. He felt numb as he turned the corner and saw a guard fighting against three rebels. The rebels had armor on, swords in hand. They looked menacing, like the soldiers he’d seen pictures of in the old texts his father had him read, or in paintings. 

Merlin took his knife out and used his magic to try and push them away. 

It was like nothing happened. He felt the magic leave his hand, felt it flow through him. But the rebels weren’t affected. Not at all. It made Merlin shake, gasping as the two rebels not fighting the guard turned to him, blades held high. 

“Prince Merlin! Run! Your father needs you! I’ll hold them off!” The guard yelled, his magic providing enough of a block that the rebels paused in their approach. Merlin stared for half a second, saw the terror in the guard’s eyes, but also determination. He was going to die. He knew that. At least he could die knowing he’d saved the prince. 

Merlin nodded tightly at the guard, hating himself and feeling like the biggest coward as he turned and fled. He wanted to stay. Wanted to _fight_. These were his people. His home. But he would do more good alive than dead. He was the only one who could end this rebellion. He just had to live to do it. 

As Merlin fled, his mind frantically tried to remember everything Morgana had done since this whole thing started. He knew she was upset, but he’d always assumed that she was on his side, like Freya. Like Arthur. He thought she trusted him, cared for him. Believed in him, him and the future he believed in. 

He’d forgotten, though, that if Uther were Arthur’s father, that meant Uther was Morgana’s father, too. Or, maybe not forgotten, but hadn’t thought it important. Arthur didn’t care, after all, remaining loyal to Merlin above all else. But while Arthur had him, had the prophecy to still his doubts, not to mention his love, Morgana didn’t. He’d naively assumed that her love for Freya and Arthur would extend to at least trust of him, but it seemed he had been wrong. Loyalty of the flesh came above all else, it seemed. 

Or maybe she had another reason. Maybe it hadn’t been her at all, and the servant that had been executed for lurking around the vaults had actually been able to enter the room and take a copy of the siege tunnels and send it to the rebels before he was executed. And maybe Merlin was actually a young woman named Gertrude who loved to yodel on high hill tops while wearing nothing but what the gods gave him. It was possible. Who knew? 

But why? Why, he wondered? She was a sorceress. Her father _hated_ magic. Wanted it abolished. Why would she work with a man who sought the death and destruction of their kind? What would that accomplish for her? 

He ran, and ran, and ran, barely noticing where he was going. His body was racing through the halls automatically, stomach wrenching as he smelt the bitter tang of smoke on his tongue, death all around, the screams echoing the hallways and making him want to be sick. He could only play every interaction he’d had with Morgana through his mind, wondering how he had been so blind. Wondering if he was wrong, like he had been with Arthur. Maybe she was innocent. Maybe… maybe…

Almost like he had conjured the woman from his very thoughts, Merlin ground to a halt when he turned a corner, almost at the throne room, and saw Morgana, dressed in riding gear and armor, eyes hard as she battled a guard. 

With a sword. 

“Morgana!” He cried, heart stopping as he stopped, gasping. Morgana looked up, eyes sharp as they landed on him, teeth bared in a smile. 

“Hello, Prince Merlin,” she spat, hatred dripping from every syllable. He gasped again, the icy, cruel chill of betrayal slithering up his spine, freezing him all over. It hurt less than when he’d thought Arthur the traitor. It still hurt a hell of a lot, though. “Have you come to face me? Well, come on. I’ll run you through myself.”

Well. That proved it. She was the traitor, alright. 

And he’d led her right to the keys to his kingdom’s demise. 

He gasped again, unable to breathe. He shook his head, tears filling his eyes. 

“Why?” He gasped, hands shaking even as he held his dagger out, taking the position Arthur had painstakingly taught him, laughing at his poor form. “Why did you do this? I thought we were friends. I thought-“

Morgana cut him off, laughing, low and humorless. She smirked, her blade slicing deep into the guard, who had used her distraction tried to attack her now that her attention was elsewhere. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him for a second. It seemed that Arthur wasn’t the only Pendragon who knew how to wield a blade. 

“Why? You’re so naive, Merlin. How could I stand here, watching and willing, as you and your father sentenced hundreds to death? Knowing how wrong, how evil his crimes were, while doing nothing, like you?! My father offered a better solution! A Camelot, united! Where everyone can be free, regardless of what they were born or what they choose to do! You’re no better than him, watching blithely as he kills innocent lives. That’s why I did this, _Merlin_. That’s why.”

Merlin could only stare, shaking his head, disbelieving. Every word she’d said was a lie. Well, not what his father had done, but the rest? Uther didn’t want peace. He wanted blood. Revenge. He’d told him to his face. He wanted death as much as King Balinor did. Maybe more so. 

“You… you’re wrong. I… I am not like that. I am not my father. And you’re wrong about your father, too. He doesn’t want a free Camelot. A united Camelot. He wants revenge. Death. Destruction. He wants to kill all magic users. He told me! To my face!”

Merlin was getting steadily angrier the more he spoke. He had trusted this woman. Had given her his absolute trust. He didn’t trust many people. Not even his father, not anymore. He trusted Gaius, Freya, and Arthur. Gwaine, too. No one else. Not fully and completely, like he’d trusted Morgana. He’d trusted her more than his most loyal Mages. He’d fought so she could be a Mage. He’d…

“No!” She screamed, magic pulsing around her. Merlin countered it easily, jaw squaring. “You are wrong! My father wants a better future. A good future. You’re just scared, because you know you have failed. We will overrun the castle soon, and you will be a false prince no more. Then Uther will take the crown, fixing the mistakes your father has made. And we will free Arthur of the enchantment you placed on him. Don’t deny it, I’ve seen his charm!”

God. She was so naive, wasn’t she? She…

“I’m not enchanting him!” He yelled back, that fact somehow more important than all the others. He was shaking all over as his magic crescendoed within him, washing over him in waves. “And you are a fool, Morgana, if you truly believe what you’ve said! Do you know why my father took over as king, why he chose to do what he’d once never wanted? Because he saw what _your father_ would do should he become king! Twenty years of magic being banned, any hint of magic being used leading to an execution. Thousands of people dead because of something they were born with. That doesn’t excuse my father’s actions or his laws, but he did it to try and prevent what would, in his mind, be a worse fate! A fate **_your father would have enforced_**!”

“ **YOU’RE WRONG!”** Morgana screamed, her magic pulsing as she tried to force him back. 

Tried being the key word. 

Merlin countered her spell easily and pushed her back with his own magic, the spell hitting its mark as the girl was blasted backwards, hitting the wall hard. The sight made him blink, not really having expected it to work. Well then. Apparently, whatever artifact the rebels used didn’t have an effect on her. That was good to know. She wasn’t hit hard enough, though, as she got up a second later, grimacing through bloodied teeth. She held a hand to her stomach and tried another spell. Her sword had scattered away, so she had to resort to magic, here. 

Luckily, while the witch was good, she had nothing on Merlin. Merlin had seen her magic before. Knew how it worked. Knew her style. He could beat her blindfolded. 

It did seem that he underestimated her a touch, however, as her next spell hit its mark, blasting through the defense charm he’d put up. It made him groan with pain as it hit him, making him gasp yet again. He almost fell to his knees but knew doing so would mean certain death for him. So, he pushed passed the pain and forged on. 

He and Morgana stayed locked in battle for long minutes, each one that passed giving him less time to find his father and find out how to fix this. How to make this right. 

“How could you do this?! You’ve betrayed us all! What about Freya?! She adores you!” he bellowed, hurdling another spell at the woman. His words had made her let her guard down for a split second, allowing the hex to hit its mark, blood pouring out of her mouth as the internal bleeding kicked in. It was a nasty spell, one she would be able to counter quickly, but it did its job. She fell to her knees, gasping at the pain. Merlin immediately cast a binding spell on her, so she couldn’t move. 

“Let me go! Let me go!” She screamed, her magic pressing against the invisible binds. Merlin was more powerful than her, though, so his magic held. He wanted to leave, then, finish his race to his father, but he suddenly needed to know. To understand _why_.

“She loves you, Morgana. Would do anything for you. How could you do this to her? Was it all a lie?!”

Morgana bared her teeth at him, eyes murderous as she struggled against her binds. 

“No! No! I love her, I do! But I can’t keep quiet when your father killed so many! She hates it, too, I know she does! She’s told me! She’ll... she’ll forgive me. I know she will.”

Merlin laughed, the sound harsh and bitter in the deafening air, sounds of battle and the warning bell all around, a cacophony of noise. 

“Yeah. If your father doesn’t kill her!” He hissed, almost too low to be audible in the existing din. But Morgana heard him. He knew she did, as she froze, breathing heavy. She then began shaking her head, frantic. 

“No! Uther wouldn’t do that! You and your father are the monsters here, Merlin Emrys. Not me. Not my father. _You_ ,” she spat, trying to hurdle another spell at him. Merlin side stepped it, before using a spell to stop her words, making casting magic spells nearly impossible. And as bound as she was, instinctive magic wouldn’t help her much here. He looked down at the girl with so much hurt swirling inside him. But also, strangely, pity. Empathy. After all, who knew better the naive hope of a child to believe so desperately for their father to be better than they truly were? To be a good man, who did the horrible things they did for the greater good, not because there was something evil lurking within them? 

“You’re wrong, Morgana. And I pity you the minute you realize how wrong you’ve been. Your father is playing you, like mine played me for decades. But I’m done being a fiddle. I’m fighting back, but in my own way. Albion will know peace once again. I swear it on the grave of my mother, god rest her soul. I will make things right. Some way. One day.”

With that, Merlin turned and continued his race, heart so torn he had no idea how it could keep beating. He’d never loved Morgana, not like a sister or even a best friend, but he’d considered her a friend. It pained him more than he could say to know she hated him so much. That she’d blamed him so much for his father’s crimes. So many people mistook him and his ideals for those of his father’s. But they were wrong. He wasn’t his father. He never had been. Never would be. 

He strove for a better future. 

He had to push it out of his mind when he reached the throne room, the doors barricaded while dozens of rebels tried to break it down. Shit. 

He should have realized, he mentally berated himself, pressing back against the wall and sliding into an out of the way alcove, so he wouldn’t be seen. His eyes were wide as he looked around, the dozens of dead guards and soldiers surrounding the floors like dead ants. He wanted to throw up, to heave up all he’d eaten in the past decade, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t be weak. Not then. 

It was as he was trying to think of a way into the throne room without alerting the rebels that he felt a hand cover his mouth, his magic swelling around him in fear as he tried to yell. He heard a familiar voice shush him, as wide, terrified blue eyes met his. 

“Arthur!” He whispered, after the man had removed his hand. He couldn’t help how his body relaxed, only slightly now that his other half was there. He hadn’t even realized how worried he had been for the man until that very moment. Dear God. 

“I got my sword. Gaius wasn’t in his quarters when I arrived. I have no idea where he is. I tried to look, but I knew I had to meet up with you. I battled a few of the rebels. Some of them are really good with a blade, clearly trained, while others are awful. They’re slaughtering all who go against them, though. How did this happen? I thought the siege tunnels were a secret?”

Merlin shook his head, his heart aching as he remembered the betrayal. 

“Morgana,” he spat, the name tasting like ash in his mouth. The betrayal was so bitter on his tongue. Arthur gasped, almost too loud, Merlin’s eyes darting towards the rebels mere feet from them. They didn’t seem to have heard, so he lowered his voice and continued. “I just battled her. She believes your father wants peace. Wants only to free non-magical people. She doesn’t realize he wants so much more than that. She’s a fool.”

Merlin knew he was being overly harsh, but he didn’t care. Morgana had _betrayed_ him. Him and all of Camelot. Maybe later he’d stop and think about it rationally. That she was a girl who’d seen so much horror and death, had seen the ones she loved laid low by the laws his own father had enacted. Her own parents had died in King Balinor’s war. Of course, she was angry. Of course, she was bitter. She’d thought herself non-magical most her life, after all. Why would she be generous to those that laid all she loved so low? On some level, he knew this. But at the moment, he didn’t care. His people were dying. His city was burning. And it was all. Her. Fault. 

“Morgana,” Arthur breathed, before growling softly, running his hand angrily through his hair. “Of course! I knew she- god, I’m such a fool. I’d wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to believe she’d never betray us. But I knew there was something up. She’s been acting so shifty. And she told me she doesn’t trust you, when we were in that Druid camp, the first one. I- fuck, Merlin. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have told you, I-“

“Stop,” Merlin commanded, hands shaking more. He couldn’t. Couldn’t hear it. He let out a shaky breath and spoke. 

“You couldn’t have known. She’s your sister. You couldn’t have known. I’d never suspect Freya of anything, so I don’t blame you. But we don’t have time for this. We can talk later, but now we have to get my father and leave Camelot. If we stay, we’ll be killed. And I can’t leave my father. I know the horrors he has done. Know he’s not a good man. But I can’t leave him to die. Arthur. I can’t,” he stressed, voice low but panicked. Arthur shushed him, stepping forward and pressing his forehead gently to Merlin’s. The touch was brief, the man pulling back a moment later, but it calmed him like nothing else.

“Of course. Of course. Is he in there?” Arthur muttered, looking over at the door that was now surrounded by rebel soldiers, all beating against the thick doors. They were thick and layered with magical protection spells. It would take them a while to pry them open. But they would. Eventually, they would. 

“Yes. I’m sure of it. It’s one of the most secure locations in the palace. If he’d go anywhere, it’d be there. Plus, I’ve got a feeling. Instinct. Or whatever. He’s in there.”

“Well, Merlin, that’s great. Only, how are _we_ going to get in? It’s surrounded by rebel soldiers. We could never find a way in, let alone back out,” Arthur hissed, pressing closer to the wall to avoid detection. They currently were resided in a small alcove, near enough to see the entrance, but far enough to not be seen or heard. He hoped. 

“I don’t know,” he hissed back, frustration mounting. If only there was a way into the room. If only he could-

“Oh,” he breathed, mind suddenly realizing what he could do. It would be hard, certainly. And very challenging, especially within the castle, its wards so tight that nothing could penetrate them. But he could, maybe, do it. 

“Oh? What oh? Merlin, do you have an idea?” Arthur whispered, eyes intent. Merlin nodded, slowly. 

“Kind of. Maybe. Half an idea.” At Arthur’s unimpressed look, he continued hurriedly. “So, you know how it is possible for magic users to teleport, yeah? Well, the castle has strong wards against such methods of travel, even against its royals, sadly. It’s for safety. But, because I am a royal, and am powerful besides, the wards are less strong for me. Still there, but penetrable. I may, and I emphasize the word _may_ , be able to get us into the throne room. Getting out will be tricky, but we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. If it goes wrong, I may accidentally kill us. But if we stay, we’ll be found and killed anyway. So…”

He trailed off, shrugging. Arthur hesitated, eyes darting to the growing number of rebel soldiers. 

“We could just teleport out, now. Head to Fayford, get help from my friends. We don’t have to stay here.”

Merlin looked at Arthur, who was staring at him firmly, but with concern and mild terror in his eyes. He was scared, Merlin realized, heart clenched. Merlin understood. He was scared too. But...

“I can’t, Arthur. He’s my father. They’ll kill him if they find him. I can’t just leave him,” he breathed, eyes watering at the thought. There was so much he didn’t like about his father. So much he feared and didn’t trust. But he didn’t want the man dead. Couldn’t bear the thought of it. That’s why he’d made the dragon promise him he’d never harm his father. Why he was here, now, instead of fleeing into the night. 

Arthur clenched his jaw, eyes filling with exasperation, but eventually nodded, sighing as the anger left him. 

“I know. I know. Alright. Do your thing, I guess.”

Merlin smiled weakly, before turning his magic inward. He wrapped his arms tight around Arthur, the man wrapping his arms tight around him in return, thinking long and hard about the spell he needed to use. He needed perfect concentration to do it properly. He’d always hated teleportation, the various spells used for the act leaving him weak and shaking after. It was hard to force the body through such a narrow space that was the nether, harder still when battling anti-teleportation spells that were ingrained deep in the stones of the castle. The spells had been there since the castle had been built, though the magic had worn off by the time his father was crowned king. It had been nearly a century since the last court sorcerer had existed, magic distrusted if not outright hated, so no one had been able to keep up the upkeep of such a complex spell until they had arrived. Merlin had to try and unweave part of the spell, however, before he could hope to teleport within the castle walls. 

However, finally, after several long minutes of trying to make it work, Merlin got the right combination, and felt his eyes flash gold as he muttered the teleportation spell he favored, thinking long and hard about the location he desired. As the familiar squeezing feeling overcame him, he had a second to regret not warning Arthur about the unpleasant nature of this method of travel. He wasn’t able to think about it for long because before he knew it they had landed in the throne room, both men collapsing; Arthur at the relief of escaping the horrible pressure of teleportation, Merlin at the exhaustion that overcame him. Teleportation magic was useful in that it got you to a place very quickly, even passed other physical blockades. It was harmful in that, even under normal circumstances, it drained one’s power. And these were most definitely not _normal circumstances_ , so his magic was waned dramatically. He still had about half left, but he’d probably need that half to get him, Arthur, and his father out. His father had his own magic, though, so maybe he would be able to help? 

A loud shout echoed throughout the room, various guards and Mages instantly on guard at the unexpected intrusion. He was about to gasp that it was alright, it was just him, when he heard a gasp and a familiar old voice call out. 

“Arthur! Prince Merlin! You both are alright!”

Merlin couldn’t help the way he grinned as he looked up and saw the lined face of his oldest friend. 

“Gaius!” he called back. Or tried to, at least. His throat gave out halfway, so it more sounded like ‘Guy-uhhh,’ but he couldn’t help the elation. He’d been worried when Arthur had said the man hadn’t been in his quarters, but he must have come here, like Merlin did, to find his father. 

And he had found him, Merlin realized, when he looked to Gaius’s side and saw the familiar face of his father. The man’s hair had more silver in it than ever before, the last few months aging him years, but it was unmistakably the king. But something was wrong. Something-

“Father!” Merlin cried, scrambling up and stumbling to the King’s side. His father grimaced, leaning against the back of the throne that he sat in, blood leaking from his side. Merlin could only stare at the wound in horror.

“What happened,” he questioned, eyes glued to the bloody wound, so much blood he wanted to gag. It should be healing, though. Gaius was the best at magic healing, even without his supplies. So why was it still so fresh and angry looking? It couldn’t have been that fresh; he’d been outside the door for nearly ten minutes. That would have been plenty of time to heal the wound. 

He looked at his father in askance, fear filling his heart. His father laughed, ruefully, shaking his head. 

“That bastard Pendragon. He had a blade forged in a dragon’s breath. It’s countering the magic I’m using to heal it. It’s smaller than it was, but it needs stitches,” his father hissed, shifting in the throne as he gasped in pain. 

“Which,” Gaius chimed in, eyes dark with worry, “we don’t have. I don’t suppose either of you have any needles lying around?”

Merlin shook his head absently, eyes firm on the wound again, stomach sick. His father looked so pale, then. So weak. His father had never looked weak before. Not physically. It terrified Merlin more than anything else. More than the rebel attack. More than Morgana’s betrayal. More than his blind worry about Freya, even, no idea where the young girl currently was. His father had always been so strong and mighty his whole life. To see him, now, brought so low by a mortal weapon…

“There must be something we can do,” he hissed, looking over at Gaius. His father couldn’t teleport in such a condition. He’d bleed out with the pressure. Any other teleportation spell he could try would do similar things, or else was impossible with the wards. Gaius just shook his head, helpless. No. 

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No. We need to get out of here. We- we need to teleport him out. He needs to be fixed before we can do that. Fix him, Gaius! I command you!” 

He was feeling hysterical, now. His heart was pounding, his breath was rapid. He was five seconds away from hyperventilating and passing out. His vision was blurring and blacking with the lack of actual oxygen his frantic breathing was pulling in. He had to calm down, he knew, but he couldn’t force himself to stop. He needed… he needed…

“Shh. Shh, Merlin, shh. You need to calm down. Alright? You’re going to pass out if you keep breathing like that. Take a nice deep breath, there, that’s good. Breathe, Merlin. Breathe,” a voice beside his ear muttered, warm arms wrapping around him, pulling him away from his father’s side. Merlin gasped again, looking away from the wound and into bright blue eyes, the color of a winter sky. 

Despite himself he felt his body react to the words, his lungs heaving in the air as he slowed his breathing enough to take the oxygen in. His chest began to hurt less, and his mind stopped swimming. Not entirely, but enough. Arthur just wrapped his arms around him tighter, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s. Merlin knew, on some level, that he shouldn’t be doing this here, that his father and Gaius and a dozen other sorcerers were scattered around, but found he didn’t care as he pressed himself tightly to the man he loved with all his heart. He breathed in the scent of his almost lover, the cinnamon and clove from his perfume cloying but wonderful in his nose. It soothed him like nothing else. He relaxed somewhat in the scalding embrace, body exhausted and wanting to sleep. It was still dark out, probably mere hours before dawn, and he was so very, very tired. He was always so tired. He’d been woken abruptly and had had one bad thing happen after another. He wanted it all to stop. Please. Just stop. 

“We’ll get out. We’ll find a way. All of us. You, me. Gaius. The king. We’ll get out of here. I need you to come back to me, okay? I need you. Your people need you. Please, Merlin. Please,” Arthur continued, rubbing soothing circles on his back. Merlin relaxed fully then, sighing into the embrace, his forehead falling to Arthur’s shoulder, his body hunched for the position, but he didn’t care. He remained there for almost a minute, Arthur whispering soothing words to him, his fingers nimble as they ran carefully through his sleep tangled hair. He never wanted to leave. 

Eventually, though, he had to. Gaius cleared his throat softly, startling the embracing pair. Merlin pulled away and looked at the older man, who had the grace to look sorry. 

“I apologize, Merlin, but we have much to discuss. Your father cannot be teleported in his condition. The only exit in the room is currently being blocked off, the windows facing a cliff’s edge. Our magic doesn’t work against them. None of us have swords but Arthur. We need to figure out an escape,” Gaius claimed, frown prominent on his lined face, worry in his voice. Merlin nodded, taking a deep breath, and pulling away entirely from Arthur. 

“Right. Of course. Let me see his wound. Maybe I can… I don’t know. Heal him.”

Merlin wasn’t the best with healing magic, not like Gaius, but maybe it would work. It was worth a shot. Gaius just nodded, gesturing to the king with a bow of his head. Merlin rushed over and examined the wound, wincing at how deep it was. His father chuckled, looking ancient in that moment. 

“That bad, huh?” He joked, proving how bad it was. His father never joked. Not since Merlin was a very young boy. It worried him even more. 

“Let me see what I can do,” he replied firmly, lifting up his sleeves. 

He was forced to stop two minutes later, panting as sweat dropped down his brow. He’d tried every healing spell he knew. The wound stubbornly refused to heal. Maybe, if he had some of Gaius’s potions, he could stop the bleeding, seal the wound. But no spells were working against it. A blade forged in a dragon’s breath was a deadly thing. It could kill the undead, could slay the immortal. It left wounds strangely resistant to magic. How a man like Uther has gotten his hands on one, Merlin had no idea. 

“Stop. Merlin, my son. Stop. You’re wasting your strength. You’ll need it, if you want to teleport you and your boy out of here,” his father muttered, eyes blinking as he tried to keep them open. He looked exhausted, though he tried to fight it. It terrified Merlin. No. He had to fix this. His father couldn’t die. He _couldn’t_.

“No, no,” Merlin choked, eyes watering. “I can fix this. Father, please. I can… I- I can…”

But he couldn’t. His magic, something he was so famed for, his endless might… it was failing him. He was failing. God. No. 

His father smiled at him, the look reaching his eyes for once. He looked so, so… god, he didn’t even have a word for it. Soft. Gentle. Loving. Like he had when Merlin had been a child. He hadn’t seen that look in so long. He wished he weren’t seeing it now. Not like this. Please. 

“Look at you. My son. My little boy. You’ve grown so much over the years. Achieved so much. I know I have not been the best father to you. Know I have caused you endless heartache and grief. But I don’t want you to doubt my unending love for you, Merlin. You are the most precious, most important thing to me. Please, never forget that.”

No… no! Why was his father talking like that? Like he was, was… was _dying_ or something. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. 

“No,” he muttered, tears falling down his face, “don’t talk like that. Like... don’t. You’re going to be fine. I’ll fix you up and you’ll be fine. Iacháu'r clwyf hwn*.”

The spell did nothing, making him growl in anger. No! No! His father just shook his head, grabbing Merlin’s hands. Merlin could barely see, eyes filled with shameful tears. His father was smiling, though, even as tears ran down his face. 

“It’s okay, Merlin. It’s okay. I’m not afraid. Not of death. At least-” his father gasped, pain lacing his words. He paused for a second, gasping in air as his face contorted in pain. Merlin keened, tears falling faster. No... please... his father laughed again, breathless. “At least I’ll get to see her again. I’ve done so much. Hurt so many. I wonder if she’ll despise the man I’ve become. If she’ll hate me for how I’ve hurt you, our son.” 

Merlin sobbed, shaking his head faster. Maybe if he shook hard enough this would all stop. 

“No! You’re not dying, shut up!” He yelled, trying to say another healing spell, but couldn’t. His throat was too thick, and he couldn’t stop gasping. His father just shook his head sadly, face grimaced with pain. 

“My time has come, my dearest son. There is no use denying it. I have failed. Not only you, but this entire kingdom. It is on you now, my son, to make things right. I am so sorry. So very, endlessly sorry. I thought I was doing what was right. But I was wrong. And now you and the rest of our people will suffer the consequences of my hubris.” 

His father leaned back in the throne, breath stuttering and faltering. Merlin watched, mind and body numb, as his father lifted his hand up and grabbed the crown that resided there. He brought it down and pressed it to Merlin’s chest. No....... 

“Here. You will need this. It is yours, now. Take it and give our kingdom its chance for peace. You will become the greatest king that Camelot has ever known. You, and that boy of yours.” 

At those words, his father’s eyes darted over to Arthur, who was shifting nervously on his feet a couple feet away, eyes boring into the pair of men. Merlin gasped in a breath of air, his heart aching so much as he cradled the crown, trying to give it back. His father shook his head, smiling softly. 

“Take it. Take it. I have no need of it, now. I will not make it, my boy. But it is alright. He cares for you, yes? He- he treats you well?” His father whispered, his strength leaving him fast. Merlin could only nod, frantic. His father smiled, looking pleased. “Good. Good. What is his name?”

Merlin started at his father, almost unbelieving. All that time. All those years. And his father had never bothered to learn Arthur’s name? Or had he never bothered to memorize it, as unimportant as it was?

“Arthur,” Merlin muttered, heart clenching painfully, “his name is Arthur.”

His father smiled, then beckoned Arthur to come closer. Arthur hesitated for a second, before obeying, kneeling beside Merlin, before the king. 

“You are the Once and Future King. Are you not?” Arthur glanced at Merlin, who shrugged helplessly. Arthur looked back and nodded tightly once. His father nodded back, looking like he’d just confirmed something he’d long since suspected. “I figured as much. Well, future king, all I ask is this. Look after my son. I can see how you care for him. Love him. I cannot say I approve, nor do I understand. But I know love when I see it. He will need you, these next several years. Help him. Guide him. Protect him, with your life if you must. Do not lose him. You will never get over the pain if you do.”

His father whispered the words, his eyes rolling up in his head a few times as he struggled to get his words out. But the words did come out, clearly. And Merlin felt more tears fall as he sobbed. Why... god, why... 

Arthur had squared his jaw and nodded once. He looked so serious. So kingly. He was staring his father in the eyes, not a servant talking to a king, no. A king addressing a fellow. 

“I would rather die than live without him. You have my word that I will protect him until my dying breath. I swear it.”

His father had laughed slightly at that, once more. Merlin hated it. He hated it. 

“Good. Good. I have hurt him far more than I ever intended. For that, I am sorry.”

His father was staring at Merlin now. Merlin finally got hold of his tongue and gasped out a sentence. 

“I forgive you. I forgive you all of it. Don’t go, please. Don’t go. I need you. I can’t do this without you, father. Please,” he pleaded, knowing it was futile. They needed supplies. They needed potions. They were trapped in a throne room, no help for miles. They had nothing. His father just smiled sadly, shaking his head, even as his eyes began to glaze over. He’d lost so much blood… he was deathly pale. Merlin keened again, shaking his head as the world grew blurry. 

“No. You don’t. You never did. You are so much more than I could ever hope to be, my son. You will bring this kingdom back to its former glory. You will be the king that Camelot deserves. That Camelot needs. My time has passed. My actions only brought death and destruction. I spent decades fighting against Uther’s reign, and all I have done is lead to his rule. At least,” his father paused, eyes lazing over to Arthur, a hint of a smile on his lips, “at least his son is better than him. Like mine is better than me.”

Merlin heard a sharp inhale of breath get released, Arthur staring at the king with wide eyes. Merlin didn’t understand. What- what did his father mean?

“How did… how did you know?” Arthur whispered, eyebrows furrowed. The king shrugged carelessly, gasping in pain as he accidentally jolted his wound. Merlin darted forward, wanting to help, to do _something_ , but stopped when his father held up a careful hand and shook his head. It took him a moment to compose himself, his voice weak and thin when he spoke. No...

“I’ve suspected for a while. Since I learned your destiny. Besides, you look just like him. I always knew a Pendragon would be the one the prophecy spoke of. I feared Uther, but you… I do not know you well. I’ve kept myself from you, by design. But you are good for my son. You have made him far happier than I have ever seen him. For that, I can forgive you the sins of your father. For that, I can hope you will be the man he never was, nor ever will be. Pave a new future. A better one. One where magic and might can live side by side, in harmony. Be the kings that Camelot needs. Together, you will pave way for the future. I know this. I know it.”

With that, his father fell silent, his strength leaving him. He wasn’t dead (no, he wasn’t dying, he wasn’t, he-), he was just resting. His chest still moved up and down, his eyes still blinked, but he was tired. Merlin couldn’t help the sob that was released, pressing forward to hug the man, careful of the wound. He felt a weak hand lift up, patting his shoulder blade lightly. 

“It will be alright, my son,” his father breathed, barely audible. But Merlin heard. He heard. “It will be alright. I have missed your mother so. I cannot wait to see her once more. Do not forget my love for you. If there is one thing you can do, it is that. I do not expect your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it. But please don’t forget my love. I may not have shown it, but it was always there. I would have given this all up, all of it, if I had known it would make you happy. If it would have kept you safe. I did this, all of it, for you, my son. For a future you… you could exist in. I’m sorry. I’m…” his father trailed off, minute strength leaving him. Merlin cried, shaking his head as he buried his face in his father’s robes, like he had when he was younger. They didn’t smell like sandalwood and sage, anymore. They smelled like copper iron and smoke and rot. He hated it. It wasn’t right. None of this was right. He still had the crown in his hands. It didn’t belong to him. It didn’t-

Just then, the door banged loudly, startling everyone in the room. Merlin jerked back, eyes wide on the door. 

“Everyone, form defense formations! Protect the king and the prince!” Iseldir shouted, readying his magic as the door shuddered again, shaking the entire room. Merlin shivered, feeling impossibly cold. He then felt Arthur take his hand, his eyes full of fear and terror. But also love and warmth. It melted his heart, making more tears fall as he gasped so bitterly. 

“You need to go, my son. Take your boy and get to safety. Regroup. Camelot may be lost today, but it will not be lost forever. Never forget your destiny, my boy. Never forget who you are. You are the Mighty Emrys, the greatest Warlock of all time. You will do great things. But you must live to do them.”

It was as his father said the last word that the door banged open, men and women flooding in like ants. Iseldir and the other soldiers and Mages held the rebels off as long as they could, for long breathless minutes, but they were tossed aside, like garbage. Some laid motionless, dead on the ground. Others, like Iseldir, remained alive, but badly injured. Merlin stood in front of the throne, hands shaking, still clutching the crown. Arthur held his other hand, so tight he thought it would fall off, but he barely noticed it. He was staring at the man who strode in, eyes dark and uncaring, red cape billowing behind him. Morgana stood by his side, face amused, smirk on her lips. Must have gotten out of his binding, then. Fuck. 

“Ah, Balinor Emrys. We meet at last. How kind of you to invite me here,” Uther claimed, voice impossibly smug. Merlin longed to kill the man, Arthur be damned. But he couldn’t. Arthur pulled him back when he darted forward, shaking his head tightly. Uther’s eyes fell on Arthur, full of longing, but he shook himself out of it and looked back to the king. Who was currently standing, despite his injury. Merlin started to protest, but his father shook his head, eyes only on Uther. 

“What do you want, you horrid bastard? Come to steal what is mine?” The king questioned, voice loud but shaking. He was using all his strength just to stand. Talking was too much for him. Uther chuckled, smug grin still on his face. 

“It was never yours, Balinor. Magic has no place in the heart of Camelot. I am here to take what was rightfully mine, so that I can finally put an end to the evil that is magic, once and for all!”

Merlin froze at the words, teeth bared. He couldn’t help but look over at Morgana, to see how she took the proof that he was right. That he hadn’t been lying. The girl was staring at her father with wide, confused eyes, blinking rapidly. Ah. If Merlin were a better man, he wouldn’t feel a stab of pleasure fill him at the sight. Thank god he wasn’t a better man, then. 

“You cannot kill magic, Uther. It lives within us all. Even those who cannot wield it are subject to its whims. You can no more kill magic than you can kill courage, or love. It is within us all, always. You will perish should you even try.”

Uther laughed at that, harsh and bitter. He bared his teeth, striding forward. Arthur unsheathed his sword, pointing it at the man. 

“Don’t come any closer, father. I’m warning you,” he warned, voice low. Uther scowled at him, eyes conflicted, but he conceded. He remained where he was but shook his head bitterly. 

“No. Magic is unnatural. Evil. It poisons even the kindest and purest of people. I will cure the people of this land of their wicked magic. I know how. They will come to thank me, in time. Execution is not my intent. I intend only to cure. If a few perish in the process, well. No cure is perfect.”

“You’re mad,” Merlin heard himself mutter, shaking his head slowly. Uther’s eyes turned on him, anger filling them. 

“You do not get to speak, boy. You have committed the greatest crime, forcing my own son against me with your evil magic. You will taste my blade one day, boy. I promise you that.”

“No,” he heard a voice call. He had expected it to be Arthur, but the man was just glaring at his father, eyes hard, hand unwavering where it pointed his blade at the would-be usurper. Instead, it was Balinor who spoke, the man pushing passed Merlin and Arthur to stand tall before Uther, who was mere feet away. “You will not harm him. Not now. Not ever. You will not touch a single hair on his head.”

Uther laughed at that, shaking his head. He glared at the king, then, scowl alight on his face. 

“And who will stop me? You? Don’t make me laugh. You can barely stand.”

He was right. His father was swaying dramatically, his skin pale and clammy as he faced his enemy. But he still stood, tall and proud. Merlin had never been prouder of his father. 

“He will defeat you. He and your son, the Once and Future King. They will bring peace to Albion. If you stand in their way, you will feel their wrath. A warning, Pendragon.” 

Uther’s eyes widened at that, staring at his son. Arthur shuffled, moving closer to Merlin, so they were pressed tight together. Merlin placed his arm carefully around Arthur, his mind thinking of the spell he would need. His heart was racing, his magic mounting. They had to leave. They had to go. They had to-

“You are lying. My son would never go against me. Your evil magic is enchanting him! I will slay you where you stand, vile sorcerer!” Uther shouted, his sword swinging up and then down, slicing deep into tissue and sinew. It went too quickly for Merlin’s magic to even react, to slow the time enough for him to stop it. He felt it, though, as the blow connected. Almost like it had hit him, too. He gasped at the pain, tears rising again as he watched his father fall. Dead. 

The king was dead. 

“ ** _NO!!!_** ” Merlin screamed, his magic raging inside him as he let it out, the burst of energy blasting everyone away, Merlin darting forward to kneel by his father’s side. Wind had picked up around them, the windows shattered as it swirled around him in a haze. He shook his father, calling him to wake up, but he didn’t. His eyes were lifeless and dead. 

He was dead. 

His father was dead. 

“No!” He screamed again, sobbing, putting his head on his father’s still chest, no more breath there to give it life. He could feel lifeblood soaking him, coating his hair and body, but he didn’t care. He…

He muttered spells, healing spells, but none worked. Of course, they didn’t. No spell could bring back the dead. 

Dead. 

His father was dead. 

“Merlin. Merlin, we have to go. They’re getting up and I can’t protect you against them all. We have to go!” He heard a voice shout, arms tugging on his shoulders. He wanted to scream at the voice, to tell it to leave him alone, but then he heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed, and he looked up. Dozens of men and women were starting to stand, swords at the ready, staring straight at him. He looked up and saw Arthur, eyes frantic, sword clutched in his hands. Merlin swallowed thickly, then nodded. 

He pulled Arthur down, clinging to both his not quite lover and dead (dead, his father was-) father, and imagined the first place that popped into his head, his magic swelling within him to take him there. 

Merlin gasped as he landed on the shore of the lake, crisp water hitting his knees as he gasped, eyes closing against the exhaustion he felt. God. He was so tired. So very, impossibly tired. 

“Fuck,” he heard a voice mutter, but Merlin paid it no mind. He could only stare at the empty eyes of his father, once so full of life and love. They’d died eons ago, leaving a bitter shell as a reminder. Now… now they laid empty, cold as the grave. 

Dead. 

His father was dead. 

The crown was still in his hands, pressed against his father’s chest, covered in blood. Numb, Merlin lifted it and dipped it in the water, swirling it to clean the copper blood off. Once it was clean, he removed it and placed it on his father’s head. It wanted to fall off, but Merlin muttered a spell, his body aching, and it remained on. There. All was right again. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, a couple more tears falling. He’d failed. Not only his father, but his kingdom, as well. Camelot had fallen. Uther was king. And as king, he would ‘cure’ sorcerers of their magic. He hoped Morgana was happy. Hoped she was proud of the world she’d helped create. 

He stood then, and faced the direction of the castle he’d grown up in. Of the castle he loved more than life. Of his kingdom. 

He watched, as the castle burned, the sun beginning to rise over the horizon. The fire dueled with the light, both trying to outdo the other. Funny. 

After a minute, he felt a gentle hand grasp his shoulder, making him shake. 

“We. Fuck. We need to go. Camelot is lost. We need to head to Fayford. We… my friends will help us. We need… fuck. Shit. Merlin-“

“Stop. Please. I know, I… I know. Just… give me a minute.”

Arthur nodded and pulled back. Merlin could see the uncertainty in the man’s eyes, could see that he wanted to embrace Merlin, but he was glad the man held back. He couldn’t deal with affection just then. He’d left behind everything he’d ever known. Everyone he’d ever loved. He had no idea if any of them were okay. Gaius was in the same room as Uther, a man who despised magic. He didn’t know what had happened to Freya. Iseldir, his second in command, had been bleeding on the ground. The city was in ruin, countless dead. 

His father was _dead_. 

His whole life had crumbed in a single night. He just needed a moment. A moment alone. To process. 

He stared, numbly, as the sun rose in the sky. It reflected off the castle, illuminating the damage. The stone was still there, withstanding the heat, but parts were singed. It hurt him deep inside to see. Some of the fires had been put out, but some still raged. 

The sun was firmly in the sky by the time Merlin looked away. 

Arthur was sitting on a rock by the shore of the lake, staring at the crystal water. His father had been cleaned up, his wounds wrapped in the remains of the man’s cloak. The blood had been washed off, and his hair and beard were nice and trim again. He looked like he could be sleeping. 

But he wasn’t. 

He was dead. 

Merlin took in a breath at the thought, stomach and heart clenching. But he shook his head and squared his shoulders. No. This was not the time to mourn. There would be time for that later. He was the Crown Prince of Camelot. He would be king one day (soon. So much sooner than he’d ever expected). He had to be strong. He couldn’t afford to break down. Not when a usurper sat on his throne. Not when his people were going to suffer. 

He could feel his magic was waned and thinned, teleporting twice in one day, though short distances each time, taking its toll on him. Not to mention the countless, useless healing spells. But he needed his magic once more. Once more, so he could give his father a proper burial. 

“Caniatâ i mi gwch**,” he muttered, eyes flashing as the last of his magic left him. He gasped at the feeling of emptiness in him. There was still a small shred left, barely there, though. Good. He’d need it. 

With Arthur’s help, the man not saying a single word, he got his father into the boat he had conjured a moment before. Originally, he’d cast a spell to conjure flowers to surround the man. Since he had such little magic left, he set about collecting the flowers manually, exhaustion filling him, but he didn’t care. He had to do this. It wasn’t a funeral befitting a king. His father should be in the royal tomb. But it was better than nothing. 

After about twenty minutes, he and Arthur had gathered enough flowers, leaves, and long grass to fill the boat around his father. He looked peaceful, Merlin thought, brushing a faint hand along his hair line. He smiled softly, sadly, remembering when his father would do that to him. Back when he’d been young. Back when his father still had life in his ancient eyes. Back before life had beaten him down, again and again. 

The worst part was that part of him was still angry at his father. Furious, at all the man had done. But mostly... mostly he felt sorrow. And heartache. And terror. He didn’t want to be king. He wasn’t king and wouldn’t be until he could manage to win his throne back. He didn’t want it, but he had to reclaim it. Him. And Arthur. 

His father had approved. That made his heart flutter, gasping as emotion filled him. His father, knowing full well who and what Arthur was, had approved. Of them. Of their… whatever you wanted to call it. He brushed his hand against his father’s cheek, then leaned down and kissed his forehead tenderly. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling sadly. He then whispered a blessing, hoping to put his father’s spirit to rest. “Tar chun sosa, m’athair daor***”

With that, he and Arthur pushed the boat out onto the water, tears streaming down his face as the boat drifted out. He felt Arthur wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close, but he didn’t resist. Part of him wanted to, but now wasn’t the time to withdraw from the ones he loved. He’d just lost everything. He couldn’t lose Arthur, too. Not through his own stupidity. 

With a whispered spell, taking the magic he had regained slowly over the last half hour and draining it dry, the boat lit up like a bonfire, laying his father’s soul to rest. The crown still resided atop his noble head, to remain with him even in the afterlife. His father had given it to him, had wanted him to have it, but Merlin refused. He could have his own crown when he became king (and it would be a when. He didn’t know how Arthur would fit into it all, but Merlin would become king. He knew it). His father deserved his crown, even in death. He’d done so much for this kingdom, even if it were not all good. Even if it were flawed. He deserved to be laid to rest with it. 

He hoped his father was happy, now. That he was with his mother, reunited at last with his dearest love. Losing his mother had destroyed his father, Merlin knew. He understood. He knew he’d be no better if he was to lose Arthur. Losing the love of your life did something to a person. It broke you, in a way you didn’t know you could be broken. 

Part of Merlin had broken, that day. He loved his father. Not as intensely as he loved Arthur, most definitely not in the same way (clearly), but it was love all the same. And it made him ache inside to watch as the boat drifted out, towards the mountains in the distance, fire burning bright in the early dawn. He was not the same man he was when he’d woken that morning. He’d aged centuries in a single day. Hell. In a single hour. The coup had lasted all of an hour. An hour to crumble the finest kingdom in all of Albion. How funny. 

He had no idea who he was, now. What kind of a man was he? What kind of a king he would create? But there was no use waiting around and thinking about it. Though it pained him greatly, Merlin turned from the memorial, breathing deep. Arthur moved closer, his hand twining gently with his. 

“So. What do we do now?” Arthur asked softly, voice kind and caring. He was letting him decide, Merlin realized. He was strangely touched. Throat thick, he shrugged. 

“Head to Fayford, I guess. Will it be safe, there? I know your mother is a wonderful woman, but Uther is her husband. Or was, I guess. Surely he’d be heading there?”

Arthur shrugged, looking helpless. 

“I don’t know. I know my mother would help us, regardless of anything. She’d do anything for me. I know that. Besides, there’s something I think we may need that I hid there, years ago. After your twenty-first birthday. I think we may need it, now. At the very least, we should grab that, and see if any of my friends are willing to help us in our crusade. They are good men, loyal. But I have no idea what some of them will decide. I suppose we’ll have to find out.”

Merlin nodded, absently. He snagged on a problem, though. 

“It will take us days to reach Fayford. We don’t have any food. Or a change of clothes. Or anything to store water in,” he pointed out, grimacing. Arthur grimaced back, shrugging again. 

“I’ve got my sword. You’ve got your knife. It’s not the best equipment to hunt with, but we can try. And I’ve learned what plants are deadly and which aren’t, which ones we can eat or not. It’s not much, but we can survive.”

Merlin nodded, sparing a mournful thought for his beloved horse that was still sitting in her stable, hopefully, waiting on her rider. He hoped the rebels didn’t harm her. What reason would they have for harming a horse? They couldn’t know she was his. 

It was as he began to walk away, Arthur at his side, that an idea hit him. He froze, Arthur almost running into him. 

“Merlin? Merlin is everything okay?”

His father was dead. His father was _dead_ , as his mind kept helpfully repeating to him. But that meant something. Something important. Something big. 

He’d come into his inheritance. 

"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"

He didn’t know where the words had come from. Had no idea what they really meant, not fully. It was like it was on the tip of the tongue, the meaning, but not there. Like a dream one remembered the taste of, but not the meat. 

Part of him thought he would be ignored. The Dragon hadn’t responded to his father’s calls, after all. And they were hardly in a large clearing, though the trees did break overhead, at least slightly. 

But after a few breathless moments, he heard the sound of powerful wings flapping, his heart pounding as he saw the dull red scales, the golden highlights shifting in the sun. The Dragon landed somewhat awkwardly, standing scrunched on the shoreline, not wanting to get wet, it seemed. 

“Ah, young warlock. I see you’ve grown into your inheritance,” the Dragon mused, voice almost bored. Merlin had to clench his fists and bite his lip to stop himself from doing anything stupid. 

“Don’t. Don’t start. You said you’d help us. We need to get to Fayford, soon. Can you help us?” 

Merlin’s voice was hard, cold. It was like a stranger was speaking out of his mouth. He didn’t know who it was that was speaking. But it didn’t sound like him. 

It terrified him. 

The Dragon hummed, leaning his head forward in a sort of shrug. 

“I suppose I could. I am not a horse, though, young Warlock. This is a onetime ride.”

Fine. He didn’t care. He detested the damned Dragon. A thought entered his head then, making his jaw drop. 

“You knew, didn’t you? You knew that the castle would be overrun. That’s why you wanted Arthur to get me to free you. You wanted your freedom before Uther took power. You bastard!” He hissed, gritting his teeth. It seemed he hadn’t been wrong about the beast. It only thought for itself. It cared not for the lives that were lost that day. It could have prevented it by telling them. But it didn’t. 

“Hm. I knew something would happen, not exactly what. Even if I did, I have learned all too well the price of trying to change the future. I will not do it again, young one. Camelot has fallen, yes, as has its king. But a new dawn is rising. A new era. Will you be the one to welcome it, Warlock? Or will you quiver against it, afraid? These are your choices, now. Choose wisely.”

Merlin clenched his jaw but nodded. He was still pissed. Still hated the blasted thing. But he had a point. He had a choice to make. He could stand here, being angry, and get caught. 

Or he could go with the Dragon, arrive in Fayford, and meet his destiny head on. He could march forward, head held high, brave and unwavering. 

Well. There wasn’t any choice, was there?

That was how Merlin found himself, ten minutes later, flying through the air with Arthur pressed warmly against his back, the man whooping with excitement at the air rushed against his face. Merlin understood. It was so much better than riding even the faster horse. The air was much chiller up as high as they were, making the feeling much more intense. If Merlin weren’t so numb inside, he’d probably be whooping and hollering himself. 

The Dragon had said it would take a handful of hours to reach Fayford, even with his wings, so they should settle in. Merlin had nodded woodenly, climbing the scaled back with trepidation. He remembered an old story a nanny of his had told him, once. The same nanny who had told him of Kassandra, the Greek seer. She told a tale of a scorpion and a frog, and the deadliest of favors. The scorpion asked the frog to ferry him over the river, as he couldn’t swim. And the frog, assuming the scorpion wouldn’t sting him if he were carrying him over water, which would kill him should he sting, agreed. Then, halfway across, the scorpion stung, sending both creatures to their watery grave. When the frog asked, with his dying breath, why, the scorpion had shrugged and explained that he couldn’t go against his nature. 

Merlin thought about that as he climbed aboard, wondering if dragons could go against their nature. Wondered what the nature of a dragon even was. 

As he flew through the air, Arthur’s enthused noises surrounding him, Merlin felt his eyes drift closed, his exhaustion catching up. 

So much had happened in such a short amount of time. His whole life had upended in one short, unending hour. He had no idea what was coming next. What would happen next. He was a Dragonlord, now. He would be king, soon enough. If he managed to steal back his throne. His stolen birthright. 

He was so tired, even as the chill wind bit him. Arthur was so warm and comfortable behind him. Despite his terror at being aboard a fearsome beast, he was relaxing, his mind shutting down as his eyes closed. The Dragon was surprisingly steady, not bumping at all, like a horse. He rose and fell with the wind, more like a boat on the ocean than anything. It was strangely soothing. 

“Go to sleep, Merlin,” he heard a voice mutter in his ear. Arthur, his mind whispered happily to him, glad to listen to the command. Arthur hummed, adjusting to hold Merlin tighter. “I’ll wake you when we get to Fayford. You’re exhausted. Get some sleep. While you still can. I’ll be here when you wake. I promise. I promise. I’ll never leave you. Not ever.”

Merlin smiled blithely as his head leaned against a muscled shoulder, solid thighs pressed against the back of his thighs. He could feel the sheath to Arthur’s sword digging into his side, the sheath for his dagger located on his other hip. 

Nothing would ever be the same after this. Everything had changed. Everything he loved was now gone. Some for good. 

He’d have to fight if he wanted the rest of it back. 

And if it was a fight Uther wanted, well…

It was a fight Uther would get. 

And he didn’t intend to lose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Means, “heal this wound,” in Welsh. According to Google. 
> 
> **Means “allow me a boat,” which was the closest I could get to “grant me a boat” in Welsh. Also according to Google. Sorry Welsh speakers. 
> 
> ***Means “Come to rest, my dear father,” in Gaelic. According to Google. Well, they call it “Irish.” I’m fairly certain that’s just Gaelic, though. Which I actually know a couple words in, from my trip there last summer! Craic, which means fun. And… hm. Actually, that’s it. Whoops. I had learned hello, for a project I had to do (study abroad), but I forget it now. I’m bad with languages. Sorry, Irish readers. I adored your country, and hope to return one day, though. If Covid19 ever leaves us. And why did I switch to Gaelic, for this spell? Eh. It’s a beautiful language. 
> 
> Ahhh. I think literally everyone saw Morgana being the traitor coming. When I originally started this story, I wanted her to be a good guy, actually. But as time went on, I kind of decided against it. For anyone thinking "what?! But Morgana hated Uther! Why would she work with him?!?!" Please know that she doesn't know Uther is evil here. In canon, Morgana worked with very sketchy people just because they tell her things she wants to hear. She hates Balinor and only tolerates Merlin because Arthur vouches for him. But she hates the laws of Camelot, since she spent most of her life thinking she didn't have magic, plus most of her friends don't have magic, and all that. She doesn't know (or doesn't want to know) that Uther plans to ban all magic, not when she works with him. That's all I'll say about that, for now. 
> 
> As for Balinor... yeah, I killed him. Honestly, I think it's the kindest thing to do for him. Now he can go and see Hunith again and not deal with the consequences of his actions. I do find it hilarious how I kept going "oh no! He's dead now! So sad!" Only to have him wake back up and go "one more thing!", Uncle from Jackie Chan Adventures style.


	31. King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _~~~You've got it all  
>  You lost your mind in the sound  
> There's so much more  
> You can reclaim your crown!  
> You're in control  
> Rid of the monsters inside your head  
> Put all your faults to bed  
> You can be king again~~~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. 
> 
> So, I wasn't going to post today, since I posted a chapter for my other fic and I don't like posting twice on the same day, but considering what day it is... I just, I don't know. I know a lot of people need distraction now, and if my fic can provide that, well. 
> 
> But enough about this. This chapter deals with the aftermath of the battle of Camelot, so it's kind of plot heavy. It also has some advancements for Arthur and Merlin, so there is that. Plus, some old faces show up. 
> 
> The chapter title comes from the song [_King, by Lauren Aquilina_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dS5GfL9F7L4), which I feel fits this chapter very well. I recommend listening to it, if you have the chance. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Arthur didn’t think he had ever been more glad to see the familiar sight of his childhood village, even as far away as it was, the Dragon circling high in the air as he searched for a place to land without causing too much alarm. 

Arthur was dead tired, but he didn’t dare sleep. Merlin was leaning against him, eyes shut tight, frown on his lips as he dreamed. It was a nightmare, Arthur knew, but he didn’t wake the man. Even a nightmare filled sleep would do him better than no sleep at all. 

As the Dragon descended and his love slumbered, fitfully, on, Arthur allowed himself to think of what had happened. What he had just witnessed. 

Arthur had never held much love for the (now former) king. The man had created laws that killed and harmed his people, those whose only sin had been that they either chose to, or couldn’t, perform magic. Who elected to use a blade instead, to protect themselves and their family. King Balinor had not been a good man, not by any stretch of the imagination. 

But Merlin had adored him. Loved him so ferociously, even after being let down, time and time again. And, in those last moments, when the former king spoke to his son as a father, not a king… well. Arthur understood it a little better, than. 

The tenderness with which the man had spoken to his son had made Arthur’s chest ache. To think, if only the man had always sounded like that, not just on his death bed. He had never seen Merlin look so heartbroken and shattered. It had hurt him deep inside to see. 

He had been beyond shocked when the king had addressed him, a wry smile on his lips. He’d actually approved. Maybe not verbally (telling him with words he didn’t approve, not quite), but Arthur could tell by the look in the man’s eyes. He was sure Merlin didn’t notice, with as torn up as he was, but Arthur saw the question in the man’s eyes. The acceptance. And the request. 

_Keep my son safe. Protect him. Love him._

Arthur had agreed to both the verbal and nonverbal requests, knowing how important that moment was. How, no matter how he had hated the king, he could provide him some relief before his life ended. Arthur was not so petty to deny a dying man some comfort. Some relief. 

Seeing Morgana had hurt him. More than seeing his father, he thought. His father he knew would be involved. Morgana…

He felt so stupid. He should have warned Merlin, should have informed him of his suspicions. They were a team. A united pair. What he knew, Merlin should know, no matter the consequences. He was no longer a single person. He was a unit. A pair. Two bodies sharing a single, unified soul. He couldn’t keep things from Merlin. Not anymore. And this proved why. 

He was shaken from his thoughts as the Dragon began to land in a wheat field, the crop just starting to bloom in the early spring. It would give them cover as they headed the rest of the way to the village. Arthur held tight to Merlin, preventing him from falling off. 

Merlin still slept, even through the tumultuous landing, proving how exhausted he was. Arthur sighed, not wanting to wake his love, but knowing he would have to. 

“Merlin. Merlin,” he called, voice soft and low. The Dragon had craned his head and was looking at them as best he could, raising his brow bone. Dragons didn’t have eyebrows, but the Dragon was sure doing his best imitation of The Dreaded Eyebrow of Doom. 

(And ow, how that thought hurt. Gaius was friends with his father, though. Had been, once, at least. Gaius had helped his family flee the castle the first time around. Hopefully, his father remembered that, even despite his hatred of magic). 

Merlin stirred, moaning softly in pain, but he refused to wake. Arthur felt his heart pull, but they had to go. If anyone saw them on the Dragon…

“Merlin. Wake up, my love. We’re here. We need to get to safety. You can rest when we get to my house. I promise,” he murmured, carding his fingers through Merlin’s messy hair. It was still sleep tousled from earlier, made even worse by the wind from the flight. He was sure his hair looked similarly disheveled. It made Merlin look adorable, his giant ears sticking out despite it all. Arthur couldn’t help his soft smile as Merlin moaned again, this time in upset. He blinked open his bright blue eyes, though, breath stuttering in his chest. 

“Hey,” he whispered, hating the look of fear of and confusion in those too blue eyes. They met his, then, wide and scared. He shushed the man, sweeping his hair back tenderly. “It’s okay, Merlin. You’re safe. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.”

Tears filled Merlin’s eyes then, a broken sob being released, even as he nodded woodenly. He shifted his weight and began climbing down the Dragon, then, body stiff and taut. Arthur watched him go for a split second, before following quickly behind. 

Soon both men were on the ground, his bottom aching from the uncomfortable flight. Don’t get him wrong, he had adored the feeling of being in the air, body and mind exhilarated at the feeling. It had even managed to penetrate his fear and terror, allowing him to whoop like a child at the sheer joy. That being said, after the novelty of the flight faded a bit, it had grown very uncomfortable. Hard scales were worse than a horse, even, since horses and saddles at least had some give built in. Dragons? Did not. Kilgharrah had said it himself; he was not a horse. He was not meant to be ridden like some common beast. 

As he stood on the ground, looking at Merlin, he felt so overwhelmed. God. What were they going to do? So much had changed in just a day. This time yesterday they’d been having lunch, albeit a quiet and restrained one. And now, this… it hadn’t even been a battle. It had been a slaughter. 

And his father was to blame. That hurt him the most. His father had done all of this. Had killed so many innocent lives. And for what? Revenge? Power? Fear? Uther was no better than Balinor had been. Not at all. 

Merlin looked tired. Weary. Like he’d aged centuries overnight. His heart ached for the younger man, who now looked ancient. He’d lost so much in one night. His kingdom. His throne. His father. At least Arthur still had both his parents, and his sister (though how happy was he about that one?) still alive. Merlin had nothing. Not even the knowledge that his own sister was alive. Arthur had to hope that Morgana hadn’t lied about everything. That she still loved Freya, that she’d protect the girl. He had to believe that. Had to. He couldn’t bear the thought of Merlin losing another person he loved. It would destroy the man completely. Oh, Merlin would keep moving, keep fighting, like always. But inside… inside, he’d be dead. And that would be a fate worse than death, Arthur feared. To wander the earth, alive, but barely. It’s what had happened to the king. Arthur saw that, now. He could see how broken the king had become after the death of his Queen. And Arthur understood. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Merlin. Not now. Not ever. 

“We should go,” Merlin muttered, after a moment had passed. He still looked tired, but determined, now. Some fire had sparked within him, giving him life. Good. Good. 

“Yes, you both should. It would not do to linger too long. Be careful, young ones. Your safe haven will not remain safe for long. Even now your enemies pursue you. Do not terry too long in any one place. To do so would mean certain death. Do not hesitate to call upon me, Warlock. I will come when you call.”

With that, Kilgharrah sprang up into the air, flying away without a care. Of course. Typical. Offer some cryptic warning, then fly off before explaining himself. Bastard. 

Merlin had taken the words with grace, though, allowing it to catch that spark within him and spread it like wildfire. He still looked so tired, so weary, but he was now burning with intensity. He looked so much like the king he now was, would be again, that it took his breath away. He’d never wanted to kiss the man more but knew they had more important things to worry about. So, swallowing thickly, he made his way through the field of wheat, Merlin at his back, and made his way back to his first home. 

It took them over an hour to reach the entrance of the village. The sun was now overhead, the time roughly around noon. They were both exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry, but they had made it. 

As they wandered into the small village, clothes ragged, still soaked with blood, sweat, and tears, a cry rang out from the town. And soon they were surrounded. Arthur instinctively went for his sword, Merlin’s magic swelling sluggishly within him, but no attacks came. 

“Arthur,” a familiar, masculine voice called. For the first time in his life, he was actually relieved to hear it. 

“Lancelot,” Arthur breathed, too exhausted to be any louder. The man strode forward through the crowd of worried villagers, clasping him into an embrace when he got close enough. While he and Lancelot had never been particularly close, he’d grown an appreciation of the man, now that they no longer both vied for Gwen’s affections. He still thought him too bloody noble and good, it was sickening, but he could see the charm. Somewhat. 

Plus, he was a very attractive man. A fact had once angered him, but now made him flush prettily against his will. Yes, he was madly in love with Merlin and wanted no one else but him. But, well… he had _eyes_. 

“What happened? No offense, my friend, but you look like death warmed over. You and your prince. What happened?”

Arthur just shook his head, exhaustion lacing his every move. 

“I’ll explain later. I can’t do it multiple times. Can you round up our friends? It’s important. Interrupt their work if you must. We need to talk. Meet at my house in ten.”

Lancelot, loyal and stalwart and true Lancelot, just nodded and immediate headed out to grab their friends from their work. 

Exhaustion still filling his every step, Arthur turned and strode to his house, the crowd parting before him as he and Merlin strode forward, feet leaden, cheeks sunken. They probably looked like hell. He didn’t care. 

They reached his house in matter of minutes. Some of his friends were already there, their eyes wary and concerned. Percival took a step towards him, hands extended to offer help, but Arthur shook his head. He didn’t need help. He’d be fine. Percival nodded and stepped back, giving Arthur the freedom to enter his house. 

He smiled warmly when he saw him mother, the woman looking up from her cooking with a gasp, floating over to him in a second, eyes wide with concern. 

“Arthur! My son. What happened?”

Arthur smiled weakly as his mother fussed over him, looking for wounds. She’d find none. He had fought many men (and a couple women, though he hadn’t been proud of that) in his flight through the castle, but he’d not been struck once. He was wearing his chainmail, the weight cumbersome on his exhausted body, and it had taken most of the damage he’d have faced. Plus, he was an excellent swordsman. He removed it now, not wanting to be burdened by its weight any longer. He’d be fine for now. He hoped.

It didn’t take long for the rest of his friends to trickle in, each as worried as the last. It relieved him to know his father’s presence hadn’t reached the small village yet. They were completely non-magical, besides. There was no reason for him to attack, anyway. 

His mother had piled him and Merlin high with food and water, saying that explanations could wait until after they were fed. The food was impeccable, like always, but he tasted none of it. His stomach was clenched far too tight for that. Merlin seemed to be of a same mind, pushing his food around more than he ate. They got enough in to curb their hunger, at least. 

It was as he was gearing up to speak, his mind rattled and still so exhausted, that one more person entered the small space. One he had not expected to see but was surprisingly glad to see besides. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin breathed, like it was a prayer, standing and making his way quickly to the other man. Arthur felt his gut clench as the two men embraced, Gwaine saying Merlin’s name as reverently as Merlin had said his. It hurt, to see it, but he’d never been so glad to see his friend. Gwaine pulled away from Merlin a moment later, eyes turning to him as he strode forward. Arthur prepared for a hug, but wasn’t expecting the bear hug he received, all the air pushed out of him. 

“I heard what happened. Not much, but whispers. Are you alright?” The man muttered in his ear, pulling back to look at Arthur with a scrutinizing gaze. Like he could see all his secrets with a single glance. Arthur smiled weakly, shrugging. 

“As good as I can be. Why are you here? Merlin mentioned you were in Mercia, in Bayard’s kingdom, to lay low. What happened?”

Merlin had returned to his side by then, looking at Gwaine with a frown. He obviously was thinking the same thing. Arthur hated the look of guarded suspicion on the usually open and cheerful face. That the prince was doubting even Gwaine, now...

“I got your letter, Merlin. A day ago. I stole a horse and raced down to Fayford as fast as I could, arriving sometime this morning. As I arrived, I heard whispers from some locals who have sympathies with the rebels that Camelot had fallen.” At his words, half the room gasped. The other half didn’t, not looking surprised. Arthur was surprised, though. Word had spread that quick? How? 

“How did they know?” Merlin asked, voice beyond wary. Gwaine frowned, shaking his head. 

“I don’t know. Magic, I assume. I was going to head straight for Camelot when I heard, but saw Lancelot running around like a chicken with his head chopped off. Had to see what all the commotion was about, you know.” 

Arthur accepted the words. He trusted Gwaine. And yes, he knew that his trust wasn’t the best judge of character, seeing as how he’d willingly let Morgana betray him, but still. He’d bet his life that Gwaine wouldn’t betray them. He hated Nobles, yes, and royalty more, but he loved Merlin. Arthur did not doubt that. 

_And him,_ his mind supplied helpfully, his stomach clenching painfully again. _Gwaine loved him._

But that was beside the point. The point was Merlin didn’t look so trusting. His eyes were narrowed, his breathing heavy. He looked like a caged animal, terrified and afraid. Arthur’s heart went out to him, unknowingly stepping forward to touch the man. 

“Merlin, it’s okay. He’s here to help. I’m sure of it,” he muttered, hand firm on Merlin’s back. The man tensed, before relaxing. His eyes didn’t lose that distrustful gleam, staring straight at Gwaine. Arthur could see the gutted expression on Gwaine’s face and wanted to sooth it, to spare his dearest friend the pain, but knew he had to handle Merlin, first. Merlin was more important. 

“Like you were sure Morgana was there to help?” The prince muttered darkly. He relaxed, though, sighing as he took a seat. He looked exhausted again. His earlier determination seemed to flow out of him like a deflating balloon. He looked up at Gwaine with apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to doubt. I just… I don’t know who to trust anymore. Besides Arthur.”

That strangely warmed his heart. To know that he had Merlin’s complete trust… he’d have to be sure not to squander it. Gwaine shook his head, grinning roguishly, though his eyes were tight and worried. 

“Don’t worry about it, my love. I understand. Can you tell us what happened? I only heard bits and pieces. What happened with Morgana?”

Arthur shared a look with Merlin, who had pain flooding into his eyes as he gasped, tears rising again. Arthur took a seat beside him, pressing as close as he could, and began the tale. 

By the time he had finished, half an hour passing in complete silence from his friends, for once, the only sound his steady voice, he was beyond exhausted. Was there a word for that? There should be a word for that. Exhausted didn’t hold enough weight. 

Everyone in the room was silent, faces pale and terrified. His mother was seated in their threadbare armchair, tears streaming down her white cheeks. She had gasped loudly when Arthur had mentioned his father, eyes wide and terrified, horror filling them as he continued to speak, voice measured. He couldn’t stop. Not for a second. If he stopped, he’d lost his will to speak. He would deal with his mother later. 

Gwen was the first to speak, her voice soft and wavering, but loud in the deafening silence.

“So... what do we do? What can we do?” She muttered, wringing her hands. Arthur hated to see her so worried, but did nothing as Lancelot sat beside her, wrapping his arms around her slender shoulders. She leaned against him, her face pressing into his chest. The sight would once have made him roar with jealousy. Now? Now he was just glad she had someone. He met Lancelot’s eyes and nodded slightly, the man nodding slightly back. He had his own arm wrapped tight around Merlin, putting it there as he spoke of the fall of the king, the man pulled so tight to him he almost didn’t know where he ended, and Merlin began. Like they were one, unified person, now. 

“We fight. I know none of you liked the late king. I know you resented and resisted his rule. But my father is preaching mass genocide. To kill hundreds of innocent people. He says he means to ‘cure’ them of their magic, but I know that is not possible. Magic cannot be removed from a magic user or else they will surely die. It is as much a part of them as their heart is. Without it, they would surely die. For all that magic users did to us, suppressed us, they don’t deserve to be slaughtered. No more than we did.”

“But we were slaughtered, Arthur,” Percival piped up, almost looking hesitant. Like he didn’t believe what he was saying but knew someone had to say it. “Why risk our lives for them, when they’d never risk their lives for us?”

Some of his friends muttered agreement, though most looked ashamed of it. More so when Gwen glared at them, baring her teeth. 

“How can you say that? You’re horrible! They’re people, innocent people! Like you or me! What they did or didn’t do doesn’t matter. We have the chance to do what is right. No matter the consequences, we have to do it.”

Arthur smiled gratefully at his once paramour, the girl nodding sharply back, a wobbly smile on her lips. Arthur turned back to the rest of the men. 

“Gwen is right. I know they never helped us. I know they watched as we suffered, as we died, doing nothing. But we are not them. We are better than them. We will show the world that magic and might can coexist, side by side. Hand in hand. We are not enemies, my friends. We are brothers. We all have magic within us, even if we cannot wield it. It unites us all.”

Silence reigned after his words, the men mulling them over. He had won over most, he knew, seeing Gwaine, Lancelot, and even Percival nodding along, as well as some others. Elyan still looked hesitant, though, eyes darting between him and Merlin skeptically. 

“How can we know that you are not enchanted?” The man asked, voice low, questioning. Some of the other men, Lancelot and Gwaine, protested, calling Elyan a fool. Some of the others, though… they looked like they agreed. Arthur took in a deep breath and held up a hand, the room silencing in a second. 

“I cannot prove it. Magic cannot always be seen. But I know what I feel. What I am. Magic does not penetrate so deep, deep into your very core. It can alter the surface alone. I feel this into my very core. My soul. This is not an enchantment. And you know it, Elyan. You feel it, too. What my father is doing, what he plans to do… it is wrong. An eye for an eye just leaves the whole world blind. It’s time for compassion and mercy. It’s time we make this world a better, kinder place.”

Arthur paused, looking around the room. He had every eye on him, captivated. He nodded, like he was agreeing with himself. About something. 

“The king is dead,” he claimed, voice loud and clear. He heard Merlin gasp, pain lacing it, and he hated it. But he had to say this. He wrapped his arm tighter around his love but pressed on. “The throne is occupied by a man too driven by grief and hatred to properly be a fair king. We must reclaim that throne. Must take back the citadel. We can only do that, together. Once we do, Merlin will take the crown and we will enter a time of peace the likes that Albion has never known. This is his destiny.” 

The men around him murmur softly to themselves, confusion lining their brows. Even Lancelot and Gwaine look confused. He sees them open their mouths, but Merlin beats them. 

“It’s not just my destiny, Arthur. It’s yours. Ours. You are destined to rule, after all. You are the Once and Future King.” 

That got his friends’ attention. He watched, mildly amused, as their eyes widened, jaws dropping as they stare at Arthur. They all knew the story. Of course, they did, Arthur had spent hours forcing them to play stupid games revolving around the legend. He would have felt embarrassed if he weren’t so tired. Gwaine eventually laughed, loud and hard. 

“Of bloody course he is,” the bastard grinned, rakishly. Arthur wanted to throw something at him. Arsehole. 

“I won’t take your throne, Merlin. I’ve told you that before,” he warned instead, eyes hard on his beloved. Merlin, however, just grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His heart lurched at the sight. He’d find a way to bring Merlin’s smile back. His full smile. He swore it. 

“I never said anything about giving you my throne, you pillock. I was more thinking we could share it. Together. Rule these lands united, magic and might ruling side by side. What do you think?” 

Merlin sounded nervous, licking his lips as his eyes darted to the side, before landing on his again. Arthur was too shocked to say anything. Was that- was he-

“W-what are you saying? Merlin-“ he cut off, his throat thick. Merlin smiled faintly, before leaning in and kissing him soundly. It was like a slice of heaven after months slogging through hell. Someone wolf whistled (Gwaine, he’d bet his life), but Arthur didn’t care. He just wove his fingers deep into Merlin’s hair, tugging tight. Merlin pulled back after a second, face flushed, his eyes still somewhat dull, but with a spark of happy joy in them. He removed something from his finger, handing it to Arthur. 

_His signet ring,_ Arthur thought dumbly, eyes wide as he rolled the ring in his hand. He and Merlin didn’t have the same sized fingers, Merlin’s so much slenderer and long than his, but the gesture meant so much more to him than he could ever say. It wasn’t how he’d ever expected to get engaged (!!!), but it was strangely perfect, regardless. 

“I know things are hard. I know we have so much more to go through before this is over. But there is nothing I want more than to stand beside you, side by side, as we face this together. We are already bound so tightly, first by fate, then by my magic. What’s one more bond, ey, my love?” 

Arthur nodded, tears filling his eyes shamefully. But he didn’t care, just laughed and kissed Merlin again, sweetly. So much shit had happened these last several months. So much heartache and sorrow. This was good. This… this was incredible. 

“Yes. Of course. Always,” he breathed, laughing slightly. Once he had started, he found he couldn’t stop, Merlin joining him, both so exhausted and terrified that they could do little else. Tears started to stream down his face, Merlin’s too, but he didn’t care. Let them fall. He had so much to grieve, so much he had the potential to lose. Let him mourn for one moment, before he moved on, the love of his life by his side for all eternity. 

Eventually they stopped, looking up at their friends. They were all looking on with wide, happy smiles, though their eyes told of the fear they all still felt. He got many congratulations, a few snide but well intended comments, before his mother stood, silencing the room as she stood, shakily, before the pair. Arthur didn’t know what to say, hand clenching the ring he’d been gifted, but before he could say anything, his mother knelt down and hugged Merlin tightly, whispering soft words in his ear. Arthur would never find out what those words were, Merlin steadfastly refusing to say later, but they made Merlin smile. Weakly, at first, and then stronger, until he was grinning, laughing a soft laugh as he wrapped his arms back around the woman. The pair stayed like that for almost a minute, before his mother pulled back, eyes shiny as she caressed Merlin’s cheek. 

“Thank you, my prince, for looking after my son. Thank you.”

Merlin just smiled, looking up at Arthur. The smile reached his eyes, finally. It made his heart sing. 

“Someone’s got to do it. Pillock would get himself killed if left to his own devices,” he muttered conspiringly, looking at Arthur with mischief in his eyes. He rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, making the man laugh softly. “It’s my pleasure. But please, my lady. Call me Merlin.”

His mother smiled, soft hands patting his hair down, lovingly. 

“Only if you call me mother.” 

Merlin blinked as more tears filled his eyes, and he gasped for air, but he nodded furiously. 

“Alright... mother.” 

It was nice, Arthur thought. Things would change soon, he knew it. Nothing would stay the same. It couldn’t. But this, this moment, right then? It was perfect. His mother and his fiancé (fiancé!), fitting so nicely together. A bond between them already, even before their marriage (marriage!!). It meant the world, to him. It meant everything. 

But the moment had to end, like all moments did. Sadly, it was him who ended it. Clearing his throat, he looked at Merlin, who looked up at him. His eyes turned grim as soon as he saw the serious look on Arthur’s eyes, nodding once as he stood. Arthur stood at well, sighing as the momentary peace was broken. 

“We need to prepare, quick. The Dragon told us we couldn’t stay here too long. Our enemies are pursuing us, even now,” Arthur claimed, striding through the room. He stood in the center, looking at all his friends. “I will not force you to follow me. I cannot ask you to risk your life for a cause you do not believe in. Do what you will, as you always have done. But if you wish to follow me, if you wish to welcome the future that I see… then I ask you to stand and prepare to leave at once. We will be hunted, my father after Merlin like a dog after a bone. We may not know rest. We may not know peace. But we will fight, and we will win. And we will do it, all of it, together. If you choose to follow me… I will forever be in your debt.”

His words echoed around the room, the men listening and considering. The first to stand, of course, was Gwaine, that rakish grin on his ruggedly handsome face. Bastard, he thought fondly, heart strangely aching. 

“Well, why not? Those sound like impossible odds. Sounds fun.” 

After Gwaine stood, Lancelot stood as well, Gwen soon after. 

“We will fight beside you, Arthur. You have our loyalty,” Gwen said, Lancelot nodding his agreement. 

One by one the rest of the men stood, each saying a word of encouragement. Of loyalty. Percival’s words touched him most. Arthur knew he had a child on the way, a little girl the man figured, but still he vowed to follow him into battle, saying that he wanted a world where his daughter could be safe, regardless of what she was born with. It made his eyes water, staring at all his friends, at the loyalty they showed. It made him emotional, but he swallowed it down, grinning sharply instead. 

“Alright! Then we must prepare. Grab your things and be prepared to leave by the end of the hour. We need to make a stop at the mountains. I stored something there months ago that I think we will need now. After that… I’m not sure where we can go.”

It’s not like anywhere would be safe for them, now. Merlin would be hunted all over the five kingdoms. Camelot was allies with most of the other kingdoms, and it wouldn’t matter to them who was on the throne. Not now that the old king was dead, and the prince was otherwise disposed. 

They’d have to keep running. To keep moving. To try and gain followers as well as they could, while also keeping alive. Most of his friends knew how to wield a blade, him having taught them years ago, but none were as good as him. None owned blades, either, which made their job difficult. He supposed that was their first order of business, then. To find swords for their use. Arthur turned to Elyan, asking the man if he thought he could forge them some blades. The man’s father had been a blacksmith, once, many years ago. Elyan had been six when Balinor took over, forcing him and his family to flee to safety, his mother dying in their flight. Perhaps he still remembered some of the craft. 

The man shrugged, looking uncertain. 

“I’m not sure. It’s been a long time, Arthur, since those days. We’ll need a forge, as well as some iron or steel, but I think I might be able to.”

Gwaine hummed, snapping his fingers at Elyan. 

“I heard of an abandoned forge, several leagues from here. It’s probably old and rusted, but it might work. I’m not entirely sure of the location, but it’s worth a shot.”

Arthur nodded, feeling glad now that they had a plan. A destination. How would they get the steel, however?

“I might be able to help with the steel,” Merlin claimed, standing and walking beside Arthur, Merlin’s hand finding his. They clasped hands, sharing a loving look, before Merlin looked at the men. “I know some spells that can break down the components of a substance, breaking it into its base parts. If you have anything that contains steel or iron in it, even a little, bring it. I can extract the pure mineral so it can then be forged.” 

The men nodded at that, and soon they were leaving the house, muttering to each other about the plans they were making. Soon it was only he, Merlin, and his mother in the house. Arthur felt exhausted, but he knew he couldn’t sleep. He had to do something. Anything. He looked out the door, hands itching. 

“I’m going to go and get some water from the well. We need to clean ourselves,” he muttered, eyes on Merlin. Merlin looked back, eyes wide, but nodded. Arthur didn’t want to leave the man by himself, but he needed some time alone. Just for a minute. Just to think. Merlin could see that, and so he nodded, smiling tightly. 

“Alright. Don’t take too long, okay? We should rest before we leave. It’s been a long night and I know you’ve not slept at all.” 

Arthur just nodded, even though part of him rejected the words. He didn’t think he’d sleep ever again. 

Taking a step outside, he breathed deep, all of his anxiety and fear filling him like a balloon. Christ. He hated this. He wanted this to be over already. To be back in the castle, their war won, no more casualties on either side. He couldn’t bear it if any of his friends died. Not after all this. Not after they pledged their lives to him, pretty much. To his cause. 

His mother had decided to stay there, she had said softly, eyes light on him. She’d just slow them down, as old as she was. Arthur didn’t believe it for a second, but he didn’t argue. He wouldn’t force her. 

She did promise to garner them support, to rally the village and the outlying villages to their cause. The entire area knew of Merlin’s heroics the previous year, his mother praising the prince every chance she got. She also said she’d contact his uncles, to get their support, as well. It was lucky that they had always hated her husband but adored her, she’d said, pain in her eyes even as she smiled. They’d follow her anywhere. 

Arthur had a moment to fear that his mother was lying, that she was gearing up to betray them, too. Like Morgana. But he couldn’t think like that. You couldn’t live your life afraid to trust. Especially family. He’d known his mother all his life. She’d always been the kindest, most loving soul. She’d always stopped him when he’d ranted about magic users, soothing him, telling him it wasn’t necessarily their fault. That the laws in place bound them just as much as it bound non-magical people. Arthur had never believed her words, scoffing at them, but he supposed he understood them a little more now. Regardless, he doubted she’d be on his father’s side of this, even if she still loved him. Arthur loved him, too. But loving someone didn’t mean you had to stand by as the one you loved hurt thousands. Sometimes, the best thing you could do was stand against the one you loved and hoped they saw reason. 

As Arthur reached the well, bucket in hand, his new ring burning a hole in his pocket, he heard footsteps approach him. He stiffened, shifting his weight as he got into a battle position, but relaxed when he heard the too familiar chuckle. 

“Well, I’ll be. I never thought I’d live to see the day Arthur Pendragon allowed himself to become a kept man. To another man, no less! I’m so proud.”

Arthur couldn’t help the smile that rose on his face as he turned to face his dearest friend, the man’s lips smiling, but his eyes strangely sad. It made his stomach clench to see. He hated seeing Gwaine sad. Had from the moment he’d first met the boy, storm clouds raging in too young eyes. 

“Piss off, Gwaine,” he stated, no heat in his voice at all. In fact, he sounded almost unbearably fond. Eugh. The things Merlin was doing to him. Gwaine chuckled, smiling lightly. 

“I’m happy for you, Arthur. I really am. I don’t think I have to say it, but know that if you ever hurt him, I will cut off your balls and force feed them to you, raw. Slowly. For hours.”

Arthur shuddered at the thought, rolling his eyes to hide his unease. He didn’t doubt it, honestly. He’d probably welcome it if he ever hurt Merlin that badly. 

“You know, I thought we were friends too,” he complained. Gwaine smiled cheerfully. 

“We are! Which is why I’ll be giving Merlin a similar warning when I get the chance. It’ll probably be awkward, but eh. I’ve dealt with worse.” 

An awkward silence surrounded them at that, both men shuffling. It was Gwaine who broke it a moment later, sighing as he shook out his long hair. Longer now than it had been the last time he’d seen him. It now brushed his collar bone, wavy and voluptuous. Arthur would never admit it, but he’d always envied Gwaine’s hair. Don’t get him wrong, he loved his golden hair as much as anyone, but it always lied limp and flat on his head, sometimes fluttering in the wind but mostly dull and dead. Gwaine had gorgeous hair and he flaunted it. Arthur was jealous. 

“Look. I know this is awkward, what with my confession last year, and the fact I’ve had wild, passionate, hot and nasty sex with your fiancé,” Gwaine claimed, grinning at the death glare Arthur gave him. He sobered a second later, shrugging his shoulders. “But I hope you know I don’t mean to stand between you two. I lost my claim to him the minute I wrote that letter, let alone sent it. I swear, I regretted it the moment it left my hands. But I also didn’t. He was never mine, not truly. His heart belonged to you from the first moment he saw you. He told me that, once. He adores you with all his heart. How could I ever compete? And I never had a claim on you to begin with. So, I’m throwing in the towel. Conceding. You are good for him. I’ve never seen him so relaxed as he is in your presence. Even now, after the hell he has been through, you still manage to calm him like nothing else. I am so happy for you. For both of you. So, don’t… don’t fuck it up. Like you always do. Alright?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, even as his heart swelled. There was a reason he had always considered Gwaine his best friend, despite everything. He was a good man. The greatest, in his humble opinion. Not that he’d ever tell the man that, mind. He forced a scowl on his face, sniffing like an haute Noble. 

“And here I was, thinking you had faith in me,” he disparaged. Gwaine just laughed, clasping him on the shoulder with his signature roguish grin. 

“Ah, don’t be offended, mate! I have faith in you! Faith that you always manage to fuck up every nice thing you’ve ever had! So just be careful, yeah? You don’t want to lose him. The pain… ah. I don’t know if you could bear it.”

Gwaine looked so forlorn, after that, that Arthur’s heart tugged painfully. He opened his mouth, to apologize or something, but Gwaine just shook his head, smiling his smile. 

“Nah. It’s okay,” he stated, sniffing. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it. But you know who I fear won’t be able to handle your upcoming nuptials?”

Arthur looked at Gwaine with confusion in his eyes. What was he talking about? The man shook his head sadly, face filled with a mask of sorrow. 

“Poor Billy,” Gwaine claimed, sniffing in faux sorrow. 

What? Who the fuck was Billy? 

Arthur looked at Gwaine like he’d lost his goddamn mind. Before he could ask, Gwaine continued, mock offense rising on his face. At least, Arthur thought it was mock. He never could tell, with Gwaine. 

“Oh, Arthur, please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten again?” At his incredulous look, Gwaine broke into a shit eating grin, his fake sorrow and offense melting away into glee. Oh, fuck. That look never boded well for him. “He’s only your one and only true love. Billy, the Billy goat. He was to be your goat husband, you his goat bride! Ah, but it seems his dreams have been shattered. I hope his old goaty heart can live on.”

Despite himself, Arthur couldn’t help how he burst into laughter, so incredulous at the damned reference. It had been one time! Years and years ago! Gwaine joined in, laughing uproariously, causing the neighbors to stare at them in confusion. It wasn’t an unusual sight, though, in the little village. Or it hadn’t been, once. 

“Didn’t Billy die a few years ago,” he asked, musing. How long did goats live, anyway? Five, ten years? Gwaine shrugged, not seeming to care. 

“Possibly. Probably died of a broken heart, you heartless bastard. Professing such sweet love to him, then denying his heart. The world will hear the epics of the love Billy felt, before you ripped his old, dying heart out.”

Arthur chuckled again, unable to help it. Even when he was being an arse, Gwaine was surprisingly caring. Arthur could see in the man’s eyes that he was not being serious, that he was trying desperately to lift the somber, grim mood. And Arthur couldn’t thank him enough. He’d felt so cold inside, ever since he’d awaken that morning. He was so tired. So very, very tired. It felt good to laugh. Even if it was at his own expense. 

“Never change, Gwaine. Never change.”

Gwaine smiled softly at that, shrugging. 

“Why on earth would I want to change perfection, eh, mate?”

Arthur chuckled softly again, turning back to the well to get the water, sighing softly. 

“Are you ready?” He asked quietly, eyes on the bucket at he sent it down the well. He wasn’t looking at Gwaine, but he could feel the eyes that were on him. It made him nervous, for some reason. Gwaine waited a second, before answering. 

“Yeah. I reckon. My whole life’s in a bag anyway, not much to pack. Got some old iron and steel candle holders that mum liked. Might being those if we need the metal. No need for them now, I guess.”

Arthur hummed, nodding his head. He grabbed the water from the well, grunting at the weight. He was exhausted, his muscles burning from everything. Before he could think, the bucket had been taken from his hands, Gwaine striding away before Arthur could even open his mouth to protest. He scurried after the man, seeing the smug grin on his face. He bumped into the man’s shoulder, causing a little water to spill out. 

“Oi! Watch out, would ya?” Gwaine grumbled, getting a better grip on the bucket. He was still grinning, though. Rat bastard. 

“You are such a bastard. I hate you,” he replied, not meaning a single word. Gwaine laughed, shaking his stupidly gorgeous hair. 

“Ah, I know you meant love, there, love. I’ll forgive you this time. Give us a kiss and all will be forgotten,” Gwaine claimed, puckering his lips dramatically. Arthur’s smile waned slightly at that, before he forced it to go back to normal, chuckling lightly. He’d just remembered all the times Gwaine had done that when they were children, Arthur screaming how gross it was, ew, Gwaine! He remembered the flash of hurt that would fill those brown eyes, before the boy would laugh uproariously, like it was all some funny game. But it wasn’t, Arthur realized. It never had been. 

“You know, I would. If I weren’t engaged,” he said lightly, heart pounding. Gwaine’s head whipped around, more water spilling down his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice. He could see the deep chestnut eyes darting across his face, questioning. He kept his own neutral, but his eyes imploring. The most amazing thing was that he meant it. He honestly did. He didn’t know what he felt for his old friend, but he knew that, if he didn’t have Merlin, if the man kissed him again? Well. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the man muttered, something like wonder rising in his eyes. “You really mean that don’t you? Ahh, Arthur. The worst timing you have. Imagine all the fun we could have had, had you only realized how bent you were years ago.”

Gwaine shook his head sadly, but while he did it over-exaggeratedly, Arthur could detect some true sorrow there. Part of him wanted to play it off like a joke. Like how Gwaine was going about it. But Arthur realized he didn’t want to. He’d been marking a joke of this for too long. Had been hurting his dearest friend for too long. 

“I’m sorry, Gwaine. I really, really am. I know I can be a bastard. Insensitive. Rude. Prattish,” he listed, all words Gwaine had called him lovingly over the years. Sometimes seriously, he thought with pain, remembering hurt in usually unflappable eyes. He looked at Gwaine, who was looking resolutely away. 

“Yes, yes. Keep going,” Gwaine replied, making Arthur laugh. Gwaine smiled, but Arthur continued before he could say anything else. 

“Heartless. Cruel. Devastatingly beautiful,” he continued, the last one a reminder from their one night, years ago, where Arthur had kissed him while drunk. Gwaine laughed, though it sounded strained. “I’ve hurt you so much over the years. More than I ever intended to. More than you ever deserved. I can never take that back. I can never make that up. I don’t know why you bothered to stay, though I am forever grateful that you did. All I can say, my dearest friend, is that you deserved better. And I hope you find it, one day. Find a man, or woman, who treats you with as much love and devotion as you deserve. I’m sorry that couldn’t have been me. And I’m sorry that I’ve taken Merlin from you. You deserve so much more. You-“

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to snog you, upcoming nuptials be damned,” Gwaine threatened lightly, trying to keep his tone even, but failing as his voice grew strained. Arthur felt himself soften, sighing softly. He approached Gwaine and put a careful hand on his shoulder, looking deep into earth colored eyes, as deep and true as the dirt. Some would consider that an insult, but Arthur found it beautiful. He’d spent enough time walking amongst the earth, picking herbs for Gaius to have gained an appreciation for the stuff. Gwaine looked fragile in that moment. Like whatever Arthur said next would mean more than he had intended them too. 

“I do mean it, my friend. I really, really do.”

Gwaine smiled helplessly, looking up to the sky, like asking the gods why they had cursed him with such an idiot for a friend. Arthur understood. There had been a time this conversation would have terrified him, made him clam up and punch Gwaine for making him feel so much like a ‘girl.’ Like being a girl was such a bad thing. The worst thing. He’d been such a fool. 

“Stupidly noble,” Gwaine chimed in, making Arthur’s brows furrow. What? Did he miss something? Gwaine just grinned wider, placing the bucket on the ground, placing his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, eyes soft and liquid. They captivated Arthur. “You forgot stupidly noble. Utterly reckless. Uncaring of anyone but himself. A touch self-absorbed. The most loyal friend I’ve ever had. You are so many things, Arthur Pendragon. And every single one has captured my heart so endlessly. Maybe I’ll find love, one day. But it won’t ever be like you. Or Merlin. I dare say you two were made for each other. Both as ridiculous as the other.”

Gwaine chuckled and shook his head, thumbs caressing Arthur’s shoulders through his thin shirt. For a split, heart stopping second, he had the feeling that Gwaine was about to kiss him. He didn’t know if he felt disappointed or not when Gwaine just chuckled, shaking his long hair carelessly, once again. But this time it was tinged in sadness. Everything Gwaine did was tinged in sadness, Arthur was coming to realize. How had he missed it, for so long? Oh, yes. He was ‘a touch self-absorbed.’ Well. Maybe more than a touch. But he was learning. By god, was he learning. 

“Now, come. Or I will ruin yet another relationship tonight.”

Gwaine smiled roguishly again, before picking up the bucket and heading the rest of the way to Arthur’s house. Arthur just watched him walk for a second, before shaking himself out of it and marching on. He’d never understand that man. Not as long as he lived. 

He walked in to find Gwaine chatting politely with his mother, the woman rolling her eyes, good-natured, at whatever he was saying. Which was some kind of pick up line. Arthur shook his head. Shameless flirt. 

He looked over and saw Merlin sitting by the fire, legs pulled up to his chest as he sat on the hardwood floor, eyes unseeing. His heart clenched at the sight, his legs moving him over before he really had the chance to think about. 

As he took a seat beside his beloved, he saw Merlin look up, eyes bleeding unending sorrow. It made his heart clench so tight. He hated seeing that look on that beautiful face. Hated it so much. 

“Hey,” he whispered, nudging the man with his foot. Merlin tried for a small smile, but it faded after a second, the man sighing as he closed his eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

Merlin shrugged. “I really don’t mean any offense, please know that. But not really. I just… want to think.”

Arthur nodded, understanding. He stared at the fire, heart clenched painfully tight. “Want me to leave?”

He watched at Merlin shook his head frantically, eyes wide and pleading on Arthur. “No. Please, don’t go. Just… sit with me,” he whispered, eyes impossibly sad. Arthur’s chest tugged painfully yet again as he nodded, holding out a hand to his beloved. His heart warmed somewhat when Merlin placed his hand, so delicate and smooth, into his own. He smiled at the sorrowful man. His beautiful love. 

“Okay, Merlin. I’m here. I’ll always be here. I promise.”

Merlin nodded, swallowing thickly, before staring back at the fire. The two men stayed like that for a while, until shuffling in the other room caught his attention. Both men looked up as Gwaine tried (and failed, he thought fondly), to leave without detection. He grimaced when two sets of eyes fell on him, hands up in apology. 

“Sorry! Sorry. Just, uh… go back to whatever it was you two were doing. Don’t mind me. Just heading to pack my stuff.”

Merlin stared at the man, who shifted awkwardly in his boots. Arthur could tell he was about to say something, likely something stupid to lighten the mood (the man more allergic to emotional talks than he was, at times), but Merlin beat him to it. 

“Thank you, Gwaine. For being here. It means more to me than you can ever know.”

Gwaine stared at Merlin at that, eyes wide and shocked. Arthur smiled softly, leaning against Merlin slightly, heart aching strangely. Gwaine shook his head a second later, a strangled chuckle released from his lips. 

“Ah, the two of you. You’ll be the death of me, I swear,” he grinned, the grin fading when Merlin started, eyes wide and sad. It hurt Arthur to see, so he couldn’t imagine how Gwaine felt. 

“God, I hope not,” was all Merlin said, voice bleeding sorrow. Gwaine winced at that, running a hand through his long hair. 

“Ah, no. That’s, that’s not what I meant. I just…” he sighed again, shaking his head. “I am happy for you, Merlin. Both of you. Take care of one another, yeah? You both need it.”

With that, Gwaine exited, practically fleeing from the tension filled room. His mother was still in the kitchen, watching the interaction with shrewd, but kind, eyes. His mother always watched, Arthur noted. He wondered what it was that she saw. 

“I can see why you love him, you know,” he said lightly, trying to remove the tension from the room. It worked, a little, as Merlin just laughed, looking at Arthur with tender eyes, nodding. 

Merlin groaned then, standing with a wince. He sighed and walked over to the bucket Arthur (and Gwaine) had brought over, grabbing it, and bringing it upstairs. He called back to Arthur, who was sitting on the ground, content to watch his fiancé putter around. 

“Come on, Arthur, you lazy bones. We should go and wash up. My hair feels disgusting. We only have a half an hour before we decided we’d leave. I was hoping we could get some rest, but I guess not. At least we can wash up and get some new clothes. They’ll be big on me, but I’m sure I can wear some of your old ones. I’ll adjust them to my size later when my magic is back.”

With that, Merlin headed up the stairs, to his small bedroom. Arthur sighed, standing, groaning as his muscles ached. It was funny. He’d barely done anything that day, just fought some people and rode a Dragon, and he was still so sore. 

Before he could head upstairs, he heard his mother approach him, her footsteps light and airy. He looked at her, hating the sorrow in her eyes. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, holding her tight. 

“Be careful, my love. Please. I cannot bear the thought of losing you,” she whispered, closing her eyes as she pressed close to him, arms holding him tight. The top of her head barely reached his chest, but he held her as close as he could, wrapping his arms around the mother he hadn’t seen in months. He’d missed her, dearly, even though they wrote regularly. 

“I know you’re probably angry with me, for not telling you about your father. I only ever wanted to protect you. I knew you’d stop at nothing to find him if you’d known he was alive. You refused to drop his family name after I told it to you, once, when you were four. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, my love. I love your father with all my heart, but I know his methods are not the most desirable. He just gets something in his head and can’t let it go. Like a dog with a bone. I didn’t want you wrapped up in that. Neither did he. We thought it was for the best for you and me to stay here, away from him. When Morgana’s parents died, he sent me an encrypted letter asking me to take her in. I had always adored the girl, despite myself, and couldn’t bear the thought of her going to someone she didn’t know, so I agreed. That was the only communication I’ve had with him in the past twenty-two years. I swear it.” 

Arthur nodded, pulling back from the hug, and looking his mother in the eye. She had tears gathering in them, so he shushed her, wiping them gently away. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, mother. I understand. It was probably for the best, anyway. There’s no use dwelling on what could have been, though. We have the future to look to. The future we can create. We can’t change the past. Even if we’d like to,” he added, a touch wistful. He didn’t know what he would change if he had the choice. Maybe he’d bring Merlin’s mother back. Perhaps, had she lived, Balinor never would have grown so dark and so afraid. Arthur felt kinship with the man, despite himself. To even think of losing Merlin… ah. It was the greatest pain. 

His mother just stared at him, an odd look on her face. He frowned when she continued staring for long minutes, getting nervous. 

“Mother…?” He questioned, eyes darting around her face in question. His mother shook herself out of it, laughing lightly. 

“I’m sorry, my love. It’s just… you’re so grown up, now. When you left here, so long ago, you were just a boy. And now here you stand, the most incredible man. I am so proud of you, my love, and all you have become. You are much calmer, now, even in the midst of all this chaos. I see the king you will become in your eyes. And as terrified as I am, I am so proud to see the wondrous king you will create.” 

Arthur felt tears fill his eyes again. He held them down, not having time to break down, but he nodded tightly. 

“It’s all Merlin’s doing, I’m afraid. That man had ruined me,” he sniffed, shaking his head sadly. His mother laughed, her delicate hand coming up to gently touch his cheek, eyes soft and kind.

“He is so good for you, my love. I have never seen you so happy. I’m so glad you found him. And that he found you. Together, you will move mountains. You will fix this kingdom. I am sure of it.”

With that, she kissed his forehead lightly before backing away. 

“Now, I won’t keep you any longer. Go to that boy of yours. Hold him tight. Never let him go. Never squander a single moment. You never know what moment will be your last together.”

She smiled sadly at him, making his heart clench painfully. He couldn’t help the gasp he let out, blinking back the tears. His mother cooed, darting forward again, eyes regretful. 

“Oh, my love, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant… well. Cherish the moments you have together. When you are old and grey like me, you’ll love to reminisce on the old times. Love is meant to be experienced. So, let yourself feel it. Don’t be afraid, even though you might lose it one day. I do not regret loving your father, even though he has hurt me over the years. He gave me you, my dearest love, and that is the greatest gift of all. While I have missed him fiercely, I will never regret the days we spent together, when we were young and foolish. So, love your boy like you’ll never see him again. Then, when you are older, you’ll have only good memories, even if you never stray apart.”

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded tightly. His mother smiled sadly at him one last time, before wandering off, into the kitchen. She was making some kind of pastry, in the oven they were fortunate to own. Tom had helped them build it, before he died, and Elyan helped them maintain it. She said it was a goodbye gift, to him and his friends. He had a feeling he knew what it was. There was nothing he and his friends loved more than his mother’s famous sticky buns. He didn’t know how she made them so delicious. He suspected magic. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he darted up the stairs, two at a time, darting behind the curtain that acted as privacy for his room, heart stopping as he saw Merlin, naked, cleaning himself with a cloth. The boy looked up, eyes wide, before calming.

“Christ, Arthur. I was afraid it was your mother. Don’t sneak up on a guy like that, alright?”

Arthur nodded absently, unable to tear his eyes away from the trail of dark hair leading down to a steadily hardening cock. Merlin tsked at him, though Arthur could see the bright red flush that trailed all the way down his body. Arthur licked his lips, before looking carefully away. He could hear how Merlin gasped at that, meaning his supposedly coy nature had hit its mark. He smiled, even as he stripped his clothes himself, eyes darting to Merlin as he removed his last layer, the other man getting a good look at him for the very first time. 

Arthur had always been careful when changing in Merlin’s room, strangely shy at getting completely nude. But the way that Merlin was staring at him now, eyes half lidded, mouth partially open in lust… hmm. It was nice. 

He wouldn’t do anything. Christ, Merlin had lost his father mere hours before. He was in no condition for doing anything. Instead, Arthur leaned down and took the ring out of his pocket. He took his merlin necklace off and undid the knot with careful fingers. It took a minute, but before he knew it, it was undone, Arthur slipping the ring on the string and tying it back up, nice and tight. He slipped his necklace back on, letting it hit against his naked chest. He had taken his father’s signet ring back off after having arrived back from his meeting with the man, no longer at all proud to wear it. He didn’t know where it was, now. He’d given it to Merlin, but what the man had done with it, he didn’t know. All he knew was he had a new ring now, a better ring. It meant more than anything else he’d ever been given. 

He approached Merlin slowly, the man’s breathing alternating between too slow and too fast. It was intoxicating. He stopped a hair shy of the man, just staring. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow, a smirk rising unbidden on his lips. 

“May I have the soap?” He asked, innocent as could be. Merlin cursed, lightly, shaking his head and glaring at Arthur wickedly. Arthur had to suppress the cackle he felt building up. He adored the adorable glare Merlin was giving him. Like an angry puppy. 

“You are a bastard, Arthur Pendragon. A wicked, cruel bastard. I have no idea why I love you,” Merlin pouted, though he handed him the soap. Arthur pouted, and then, before he could stop himself, felt his arms wrap around the other man, their manhood’s pressing together deliciously. He hissed, as did Merlin, though he didn’t stop as he pressed his lips to Merlin’s ear. 

“I can think of a couple of reasons,” he replied, voice husky. And then, despite how it tortured him inside to pull himself from such deliciously warm flesh, he dragged himself away and headed to the bucket, scrubbing himself with the soap and the washcloth within the bucket. He heard Merlin cursing up a storm behind him, those pretty lips saying such foul things. 

“You are such a bastard,” Merlin eventually gasped, groaning as he watched Arthur clean himself. He had gone soft, though, making Arthur know he had been right. Merlin wasn’t up to anything that night. Not after that had happened. That was fine. He could wait. He had the rest of his life to spend with Merlin. And, despite what his mother said, he would not lose his love. He refused. If Merlin died, Arthur would die with him. He couldn’t bear any other option. And Arthur had no intention of dying, thanks. So, Merlin had no choice but to live, he was afraid. 

It didn’t take long for the two to finish cleaning. Arthur had tsked at Merlin, noticing whole sections he’d failed to clean, so he had helped the man out, washing him tenderly, not a hint of arousal. Well, maybe some. But mostly he felt overwhelming amounts of love. He adored this man, he knew, watching him make faces at him as they griped at each other. He’d do anything for him. Absolutely anything. It was almost terrifying in the intensity he felt that conviction. 

They rinsed themselves off and got dressed soon after that. Luckily, Arthur still had some old clothes left over in this old room, ones he hadn’t thought to bring with him when he’d first come to Camelot, dressing himself before he searched for his smallest outfit. Pulling it out, he tossed it to Merlin, who nodded his thanks. From there, Arthur grabbed a bag and stuffed it with all the clothes he could find. It would have to work for both him and Merlin, for the moment. Maybe some of the others would sacrifice an outfit or two for the man to wear, who knew. 

Done with that, he went to the small medical kit he kept in the corner, frowning at the expired tinctures he had. There were still some clean bandages, though, and some pain ointments that never went bad. He might stop off at the apothecary and grab some supplies to bring with them, things they couldn’t forage for themselves. Luckily, he’d thought to grab Merlin’s gold pouch before exiting the man’s room to head to Gaius’s. Something had just told him to do it. Thank God he had listened. 

“So. Are you ready?” He heard Merlin mutter, making him hum softly. Now. Wasn’t that the question of the century?

“No. Not really. But I’ll have to be,” he replied, shrugging lightly. He looked up at Merlin, who looked adorable, swamped in even his smallest outfit. They were the same height, give or take a centimeter, but their builds were very different. Arthur was muscled and broad, while Merlin was wiry and lean. Not thin, no, not even scrawny, anymore. He had a line of smooth muscle, which Arthur was becoming well acquainted with. He was just built narrower, leaner. So, Arthur’s clothes were baggy on him, even as they fell around the same area on his body. Though the pants were a little short, since most of Arthur’s height came from his torso and chest, while Merlin’s came from his long legs. Hm. Interesting, comparing the two. He liked it. Liked how they complemented each other. Arthur was light where Merlin was dark, Arthur was broad where Merlin was lean. Similar, yet oh so different. He adored it. 

“I suppose you’re right,” Merlin mused, briefly confusing Arthur as he wondered what the man was talking about. He then remembered the last question, flushing at his derailed train of thought. “Ready or not, we’ve got to face the music sometime. At least we’re together. I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Arthur. You are my strength. I love you so much. You know that, right?”

Arthur felt his throat close up again. He wanted to say that Merlin was wrong, that he’d do just fine without him. But maybe that wasn’t true. Yes, Merlin was a strong, capable man. So was Arthur. But they worked so much better together than apart. Their respective stupidity canceled each other out when they were together, as Gaius would say. Or amplified each other, he conceded with a smile, thinking of the trouble the two had sometimes gotten in, before everything grew so hard. Point was, they were so much more when they were together than they were when they were apart. Maybe they’d be able to survive alone, but that’s all it would be. Surviving. They’d never truly thrive if they were apart. He firmly believed that. 

So, even as his chest ached, Arthur strode over to his beloved and kissed him firmly on the lips, pressing him as close as he dared. Merlin moaned softly, needy, and wove his fingers through his hair. It was heaven. 

They couldn’t kiss for long, the end of the hour quickly approaching. Part of him wanted to say damn it and push their departure back, so he could hold Merlin longer and celebrate their upcoming nuptials (as Gwaine would say), but they couldn’t. Who knew where the rebels (or maybe they weren’t rebels, anymore? He and Merlin and their friends were the rebels, now, he supposed. Wasn’t that a twist?) were right now? Not he. But he had to assume they were close. Even if they were leagues away, he had to go forth with the assumption they were right on their tail. Or else they’d surely perish. 

So, he pulled back, regretful. He stroked Merlin’s cheek softly, memorizing every last inch of his perfect face. Like he was worried he’d never see the man again. And maybe he was. Maybe he was. 

“We’ll be okay, Arthur. We’ll be okay. We’ve got each other. We’ve got our friends. We have a plan. And most importantly, we’ve got hope. Things may seem lost, but we will reclaim Camelot again. I know it. I speak it, and thus it is truth.”

Arthur laughed, shaking his head. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one comforting Merlin, not the other way around? Ah. But that was just the kind of man Merlin was. He gained comfort from giving comfort to those around him. So, Arthur let him, nodding carefully, sighing. 

“I know. I know. I just hope this all works out. I really do,” he confessed, feeling scared for some reason. Funny. There was a time he’d never admit that, even to himself. God how Merlin had changed him. In so many ways. Almost all good. 

(He said almost because he knew he’d grown a bit brattier since he’d started hanging around Merlin, more prone to sticking out his tongue and pouting than before. On one hand, that was bad, as it was childish. On the other, it was good, as it let him be looser. To be less uptight, as Gwaine called it. A mixed bag, he supposed.) 

Merlin hummed, coming closer and kissing him softly on the lips. It was so nice. He adored it. He really needed to find a more powerful word than adore or love... Cherish, treasure, idolize, worship, deify... none of them truly captured the depth of his feelings for this beautiful, wondrous man. Guess he’d have to keep trying, to see if one day one would fit. 

“It will. I have faith in us, Arthur. We’ll find a way through. You and me. Me and you. Together forever. God, isn’t that a lark? You’ll be sick of me by the end of the month.”

It was a joke. Arthur knew it was. But he treated it as if it were serious, looking at Merlin with deadly serious eyes. 

“Never. I will never be sick of you, Merlin. Not ever,” he swore. He saw the emotion that swelled in those bright blue eyes, the shininess making his heart hurt. He forced himself to smirk, winking insolently at his former master. “I mean, if I’ve not gotten sick of you by now, it surely can’t ever happen. I mean, come on. I’ve heard you snoring every night for the past month and a half. If that didn’t force me to leave, nothing will.”

He was strangely elated to see the offended look on Merlin’s face. Truth be told, Merlin didn’t snore. Well, a little, but it was more adorable than annoying. It actually soothed him, a little. Not that he’d tell Merlin that, he thought with a smirk. 

“Oh, you’re one to talk! You snore like a pig!” Merlin exclaimed, crossing his arms petulantly. Arthur opened and closed his mouth, finding himself strangely _insulted_. Like, yes, he was the one who started it, but hey! Ow! 

“I beg your pardon? I do not snore!” He exclaimed. He didn’t! So what Morgana had always teased him about his supposed snoring (and he pushed past the hurt thinking of his sister brought on, not wanting to ruin the light mood)? She was a liar! And clearly, so was his fiancé! 

“Oh yeah, you do. First time I heard it I wondered who’d let a pig into my bed. Then I noticed it was you! I thought it cute at first, but honestly, Arthur. If it weren’t for silencing charms, I’d have smothered you.”

Okay. He was officially offended. He opened and closed his mouth, thinking of something witty to say, but eventually just hmphed and stomped away, grabbing the bag with their supplies. He heard Merlin calling down to him, laughing as he apologized, but he didn’t stop, even as a grin bloomed on his face. God. Even when pissed he adored that man. Worshiped him. Idolized him. Deified him. Hm. No, none had the right ring. He had to keep trying. 

He passed his mom, the woman smiling so softly as she looked at him, tears shining in her eyes. He smiled softly back, nodding in acknowledgment. Quickly, he grabbed a sticky bun, fresh from the oven, hollering as it burned his fingers, tossing it from one hand to the other to try and cool it. His mother sighed her usual long-suffering sigh, but smiled so fondly when he grinned at her, stuffing a piping hot bite into his mouth, regretting it when he burned his mouth completely. It was so good, though, that he couldn’t help but take another bite, his muted pain worth the decadent bite. 

“Honestly, Arthur,” his mother tsked, shaking her head. 

“Excuse me, my lady, is this vagrant bothering you?” He heard an amused voice call from the stairs, Merlin stomping down them with a wide, happy grin on his face. God. To think, just that morning he’d thought he’d never see that look again. And he knew it was temporary. That it would fade when reality flooded back in. But Arthur was determined to milk this for as long as he could. To keep that incredible smile on that incredible face. 

And so, he acted the part. He did what Merlin had taught him and played the fool. He acted exaggerated and silly and everything his younger self would have despised. Would have cringed at seeing himself do, pride bruised and battered. He could see his mother looking at him, watching him, but he found he didn’t care. As long as Merlin was laughing and smiling, he truly did not care what anyone thought of him. Even his mother. 

Eventually it was time for them to go, Arthur thinking he’d stop by the apothecary before leaving. His mother was supposed to be working a shift, but she had called out, explaining the basics of what had happened to the owner, who he’d known since he was knee high. He’d given her the day off, telling her to spend it with her boy. He was a good man, Arthur felt, even if he’d never married or had kids of his own. Arthur had a feeling they were a bit alike if you understood his meaning. 

For now, though, he grabbed Merlin’s hand, smiling sappily as he memorized every line. Every detail. The happiness, the adoration... the love. He wanted it all stored inside him, so he’d never forget. 

He never wanted to forget. 

The world was different now. Everything had changed. He had no idea what was going to happen, who was going to win. He’d been betrayed by his sister, had watched his father kill his beloved’s father. Had watched his father orchestrate the death of hundreds, if not thousands. So much death. Needless, useless death. 

The road would wind and curve, the path ahead murky. Nothing was certain, not these days. 

Well. One thing was certain, he supposed. 

He’d love Merlin until the day he died. 

When that day would come, however. 

Well. 

That was the question. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh. I had never intended for Arthur and Merin to get engaged so soon after officially getting together, but, well... it makes sense, politically, and in order to satisfy the prophecy. And, I mean... we're over 300,000 words in. It's not like it's not been enough time.


	32. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Depictions of anxiety and panic attacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!!! 
> 
> Sorry for the extended wait! Things have, uh... been very hectic, both in the world and just for me, personally. I started a YouTube channel! I used to post old Twitch streams of mine, but seeing as how I don't stream anymore, I shifted it so now I post myself doing art/resin projects. If you're interested, you can look me up at DracotheDeathEatingCupcake on YouTube. I only have 2 resin videos up, but I'm currently working on a third and fourth. 
> 
> This chapter is pretty long and a lot goes on! We get some things resolved from older chapters, and set up the next couple chapters. 
> 
> The title comes from the song Gold, by Echos. I'm not entirely sure why I chose that song when I wrote this chapter, but I kept it, because why not? 
> 
> Enjoy!

_~~~I've realized nothing I do feels right  
Lost in my head and out of sight  
Dreaming of the day when I leave  
And what the world has left for me_

_Nobody knows who I am  
I've got intentions of gold  
With my plans  
Nobody knows who I am  
I've got intentions of gold  
With my plans~~~_

* * *

Merlin stared at the base of the mountain, part of him wondering just what they were doing here. 

It had taken them the rest of the day to travel to the mountain, Arthur’s friends (their friends, now, he supposed. After all, they’d all treated him kindly and welcomed him with open arms. Especially now that he and Arthur were kind of, technically… engaged. Which may or may not have been his intent when bringing up the fact that he and Arthur could rule together, though honestly, what other way could he have meant it, but now he was _engaged and he was on the run from his own kingdom and his father was dead and_ -)

Ahem. 

As he was saying. Their friends were surprisingly prompt in their movement, though they complained about everything. Playful, yes, but they couldn’t go ten feet without someone complaining about something. Keeping them all alive should they run into any of the rebel slash not rebels anymore would be interesting. 

One blessing was that they had the horse that Gwaine had stolen and had rode all the way to Fayford from Mercia. They loaded the poor beast (whom Merlin had christened Daffodil, in account of her lovely goldish-brown coat. Arthur had groaned, shaking his head, but Gwaine had loved it, laughing. So, what, he was missing his own horse? Mind your own business) with their extra supplies, such as the steel and iron they’d managed to find. Merlin could feel his magic under the surface of his skin but knew some time would pass before he’d be at full strength again. Luckily, the extraction spell wouldn’t take much power. Unluckily, it was still a bit complicated and required energy and precision. None of which he had any of, at the moment. 

He was doing his best to keep moving. To keep on marching. It was hard when everything in him was aching so badly. Seeing Gwaine again had been so nice. Yes, he was engaged (somehow) to Arthur, but he couldn’t deny how he still loved Gwaine. He’d never betray Arthur, ever, but seeing Gwaine made him feel better. Like something normal was happening. He’d lost so much. At least he still had his friend. 

Most of all, though, he was trying not to think of what had happened. It didn’t help that every time he stopped, for even a second, without a distraction, the memories of the smoke and the fire came back. The bitter tang of blood on his tongue. The way his father’s blood felt, soaking into his pores, warm and bitter and-

“Hey, Prince Merlin. What do you think?” A voice asked him, cutting into his thoughts. He blinked, looking at Arthur’s friends ( _his friends_ ) and smiled politely. He had no idea what was going on. Lancelot had spoken to him, the man now frowning with concern. Merlin liked Lancelot, honestly. However, he understood why Arthur disliked the man, and out of respect to his betrothed (oh, god), he would dislike the man too. But, well. Only kind of. 

They were all staring at him now, frowning as well. Merlin hated it. He cleared his throat and shrugged. 

“I mean, it doesn’t matter much to me,” he said, non-committal. He hoped the response made sense. Then he registered how Lancelot had addressed him, making him frown further. “And you don’t have to call me ‘prince’ anymore. Technically, I have no status at the moment. I’m no different than any of you, now.”

One of Arthur’s friends ( _His friends, dammit_ ) snorted at that, shaking his head. Percival. Merlin liked Percival. He was a good sort. His wife was nice, too, the woman giving him a small hug when he’d wished her well for their marriage, giving them the traditional gift that a prince gave a newlywed pair. So, it had been a solid silver hand mirror, to symbolize their union, likely costing more than their entire house. So what? She’d liked it, at least, smiling with tears in her eyes. He liked her. 

“No different from us, he says,” Percival called, rolling his eyes. The others chuckled, making Merlin scowl, sinking down in his jacket, the only part of his previous attire that had survived from his previous outfit. Oh, and his neckerchief, of course. Couldn’t forget that. “Aside from the fact he can conjure tornadoes with his mind.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at that. Excuse you, he thought rudely. It wasn’t his mind. It was his magic. And he didn’t exactly have much of his magic at the moment. He truly was useless now. 

To his surprise (and yet, no, not really), he didn’t even have to open his mouth before Percival was smacked upside the head, Arthur rolling his eyes at the larger man. 

“That’s not how magic works,” was what Arthur said. Merlin smiled at his betrothed (maybe if he kept saying it, he’d get used to the word?) and shrugged. 

“Ow,” Percival intoned. Arthur just made a face at him, making the whole group laugh. Honestly, it was great they were all having a good time. But seriously, they were awful at keeping quiet. 

“Anyway,” Arthur said loudly, swinging his pack down. Ah. Had they been asking to take a break then? “I suppose this is as good a place to stop for the night as any. Let’s make camp, then.”

Make camp?! But they hadn’t done anything yet! Yes, the sun was starting to set, yes it was getting cold, and as useless as his magic was, at the moment, he wouldn’t be able to cast a warming charm, so it would be best to get a roaring fire going as soon as possible, but… they had more to do. They had to keep going. They, they…

“Why are we stopping?” Merlin blurted, knowing he was alerting them to the fact he’d not been listening but not caring. All the men (and Gwen) were putting their bags down, laughing. They looked up at him, however, confused at his outburst. It was Gwaine who spoke, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Ah, darling. You just said you didn’t care,” the man claimed, voice even but his eyes concerned. Merlin hated it. He clenched his fists, scowling. 

“Well, I hadn’t been listening,” he admitted, not caring. The men looked at each other. Would they stop doing that?! “We can’t stop now. We have to do whatever it is Arthur wanted us to do, and then get going to the forge Gwaine spoke about. We can’t stop here, we’re in the open. Anyone could see us here, and I can’t cast a glamour. We can’t stay here.”

Everyone frowned again. He was starting to hate that. He clenched his fists tighter, his jaw clenching as well. His heart was pounding, but he had no idea why. Why was he suddenly so afraid? It made no sense. Arthur stood carefully, eyes wary, as he approached Merlin. _Like I’m a startled horse_ , Merlin thought, scowling. 

“Love, what’s wrong? This spot is as good as any. No, there’s not much cover, but there’s not much cover for miles around. We can’t keep going , though. You barely slept last night. Neither did I. We need to rest. We can grab my thing in the morning before we head out. We can’t keep going.”

Merlin felt his breathing increase. Why? He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t- 

“We can’t stop here!” He shouted, making a couple birds startle and take flight. As jumpy as he was feeling, Merlin startled, too, eyes wide as he looked around, half expecting to see the rebels surrounding them. His ears were roaring with the sound of battle, now. He could smell the smoke, could taste the blood. It was all over him, Christ, it was all over him, get it off, get it off, get it off! Get it off! Please, God, get it off!

“Hey, Merlin, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay. We’re all okay. We need to rest. We’ll find a better place to stop tomorrow. This will be fine for today. Alright? It’s okay, my love, it’s okay,” Arthur soothed. He felt as Arthur touched him, though, looking like he was about to hug him and Merlin just… freaked out. 

“Don’t touch me!” He screamed, backing away quickly. He, unfortunately, tripping over a root and fell, hard, on his arse. It hurt, but he didn’t care. He just kept retreating, his eyes wide as he looked around. He was terrified but he had no idea why. He could smell smoke, could hear screaming. His father was dead, dead, dead, _dead_ , and it was all his fault. He’d failed his father. He’d failed his people. He’d failed everyone. Hundreds and thousands of people were going to die, and it was all his fault for not having been good enough to save them, oh, god, how could he expect to save Arthur’s (his!) friends?! How could he be expected to save anyone, let alone overthrow the rebels (not rebels. Not anymore. They had _won_ ) and take back the crown? His father was still burning in a boat somewhere and here he was, on his arse, pathetic and useless and worthless and _weak, weak, weak_ \- 

“Merlin! Please, it’s okay! You need to calm down, my love, please. We need to stop. We can’t keep going. Please, talk to me. What is wrong?” 

Arthur was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear over the roaring in his ears. Merlin lifted his hands and placed them over his ears. He felt tears on his skin as he tried to squeeze the sound out of his head, his forearms wet as they pressed against his face. Huh. He hadn’t realized he’d started crying. He also hadn’t realized he was currently sobbing, shaking his head as he tried to express how they shouldn’t stop here. He didn’t even know why he was so afraid. Why he thought they couldn’t stop here. The Dragon had said they shouldn’t linger too long in any one place… how long was too long? How long… how…

He couldn’t breathe. He was breathing too hard. Too fast. He needed to stop breathing. He tried to stop, but that just hurt, so he kept breathing, but he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t, he couldn’t- he smelled smoke. He was going to suffocate. He was going to die, oh, god, they were all going to die, he had to save them, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t-

“Arthur, let me handle this, yeah?” He heard a voice say, before he felt someone kneel down before him. He cringed, rocking, afraid someone was about to touch him. No one did. He just heard a soothing voice. It took him a second to figure out what it was saying. 

“-you’re having a flashback, Merlin. It’s not real. What you’re seeing, what you’re feeling, it’s not real. You’re here, with your friends, with me and Arthur. Open your eyes, my love, and take a look. You’re safe now. You’ll never be alone. I know you’re afraid. I know you think you’re back there. But you’re not. You’re here. You got out. You’re safe. We’re all safe. I promise you. I promise you.”

Merlin could hear the words, but they didn’t make sense. He looked up, into concerned brown eyes. He was expecting to see smoke. Fire. Death and destruction all around him. He was confused when he only saw a clearing, the sun setting in the distance. Oh, right, he was with Arthur’s (his?) friends, in the clearing. They wanted to stop for the night. His chest clenched again. They couldn’t stop. They couldn’t stop. They couldn’t-

“Okay, okay, we won’t stop here, okay, love? We’ll find a better place,” Gwaine claimed, cutting off the babbling Merlin was doing. He shut his mouth. He hadn’t realized he had been talking. Gwaine whistled, making a gesture with his hand. The rest of the men (and Gwen) immediately began picking up their things, not complaining as they packed everything away again. Merlin felt bad, but they couldn’t stop here. He didn’t know why. He just couldn’t. They couldn’t. 

Gwaine looked up at Arthur, who was hovering near, looking devastated and concerned. It made his chest hurt to see. He gasped, trying to breathe, but he couldn’t. Why couldn’t he breathe?

“Is there anywhere else that we can go to camp for the night?” Gwaine asked, voice even and calm. Arthur just shrugged, looking helpless. “Think, Arthur. Think. It’s okay.”

Arthur shook his head, before nodding, eyes alight. “I suppose we could stay in the caves under the mountain. You all remember them, yeah? It won’t be the most comfortable, but it should be secure.”

Gwaine nodded, sharp, and then turned back to Merlin. Merlin tensed, having the eyes back on him, but relaxed when he only saw warmth and adoration. No pity. Not even any concern. Okay. That was good. He could work with that. 

“See, Merlin? We’ll find a better place to camp. Someplace safe and secure. We’ve been playing in these mountains since we were children, we know how to protect them. We won’t be out in the open. We’ll be safe. Okay?”

Merlin nodded slowly. He could still hear the sounds of people screaming, but it was starting to fade. The blood was still on his hands, though. He began picking at them, trying to get the blood off. He whined when he couldn’t get it off. God. Please. 

“Merlin, look at me, okay, love? Don’t look at whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real. I’m real. I’m here. I’m with you, and you are safe. We are all safe. Look at me, love, that’s it. That’s a good lad,” Gwaine said, eyes firm on Merlin. Merlin stared back, still breathing fast. “Now, can you take a deep breath with me? One deep breath. Come on, love, you can do it. Like this.”

Gwaine breathed in deep, then, and held the breath for a couple seconds. He then let the breath out, slowly, before repeating the process. 

“Can you try with me, Merlin? Let’s breathe together.”

Merlin did his best to follow what Gwaine was saying. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. It was shaky, his chest hurt, but he kept trying. It was getting easier. 

After a minute, he no longer heard screaming. He didn’t smell smoke. He didn’t know if he still had blood on his hands, because he refused to look away from Gwaine, but he hoped not. He could think a bit clearer, at least. That was something. 

“I, I’m sorry,” he rasped, a couple more tears falling from his eyes. He felt like such a fool. Why had he freaked out? Why had he been so afraid? He didn’t understand. Gwaine just shook his head, though, slowly. He was still smiling, love and warmth in his gaze. 

“No, my love. There’s nothing to be sorry for. Can I touch you, Merlin? Would that be okay?” 

Merlin’s first instinct was to say no, no! But he took a deep breath and nodded, slowly. Instead of a hug, like he feared, he felt gentle hands take his, cradling them like they were something precious. He looked down at them, then, and didn’t see any blood. Good. Good. 

“You went through something horrible not even hours ago. You’re now running, trying to keep us lot of idiots safe from something even more horrible. You’re going to feel afraid. You’re allowed to be scared and frightened. It’s okay. We’re here for you, though. We’ll keep each other safe. We’ll keep you safe, and you will keep us safe. We’ll all be okay. I promise, my love. I promise.” 

More tears fell from his eyes. He wanted to believe Gwaine, but-

“I can’t protect you. I can’t keep you safe. I failed. I, I failed. I got my father killed. If I was better… if I was stronger…” 

His eyes grew blurry as he remembered his father, his eyes still and cold in death. No light in them. Before he could get lost in the memory, he felt his hands get squeezed, heard his name get called softly. He looked up, into Gwaine’s brown eyes, full of warmth. And love. And _life_. 

“It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault. You did what you could. But you will do fine. You are strong, Merlin. The strongest man I’ve ever met. You didn’t fail, Merlin. You won’t fail us. I promise you. Now, do you think me a liar?”

Gwaine said it lightly, but Merlin took it seriously, shaking his head just a touch frantically. Gwaine smiled, eyes shining. 

“Then believe me. I trust in you, Merlin. So do the rest of us. We trust you. Don’t worry, love. We’ll be okay. We’ll keep each other safe. I swear.” 

He nodded, slowly. Okay. Okay. That was... okay. They’d keep each other safe. Merlin took in a breath and found that it didn’t make his chest ache. That was good. 

He took one of his hands back from Gwaine and used it to wipe the tears from his face. Part of him felt ridiculous for his outburst, but mostly… mostly he felt tired. Drained. He wanted to rest, but they couldn’t rest here. They needed to get somewhere safe. 

So, though it pained him, he stood, his legs only slightly shaky, and moved over to Daffodil. The horse snuffled at him, sniffing his face. He smiled, patting her neck softly. She was a good horse. She wasn’t Buttercup, but she was still good. 

“We should head out. It’s getting dark. Where are these caves?” He asked, trying to keep his voice light. He felt like anything would set him off again. He didn’t want to ever feel like that again. So terrified over nothing. Arthur cleared his throat, face carefully blank when Merlin looked back. 

“They’re not too far from here. They’re a bit small and uncomfortable, but we should be fine. Come on, I’ll lead the way.”

Arthur strode off, then, taking the lead. Merlin felt his heart clench. Was Arthur mad at him? God. He hoped not. Maybe he was regretting their engagement (god, why had he said that to the man? He didn’t know why he’d given him his ring, why would Arthur want someone like him, why-)

“He’s just tired, love. Come on, let’s get going. Now, why don’t you tell me about the proper way to ride a horse? I fear I’ve never been properly taught,” Gwaine claimed, approaching slowly. Merlin nodded. He had a feeling Gwaine was lying, but he didn’t care. He knew how to ride a horse. He could talk about that. 

It took about half an hour to get to the caves, Merlin and Gwaine chatting about everything and nothing the entire time. Gwen had come up at some point, joining the conversation, Lancelot approaching not long later. It had been nice. Easy. As they approached the caves, conversation died down a bit, but he could still hear the others talking softly. They left Daffodil outside (in a clearing with a lot of tasty grass and flowers, Merlin patting her flank with a soft word of gratitude and apology for leaving her alone) before entering the cave system.

The caves were dark and damp, but they were able to light a few torches (Merlin had to look away from the fire. The scent of smoke filled his nose, but this was not bad smoke. It was clean. Not rancid. He had to remember that. He had to-) and it was fine. They settled in the biggest of the caverns they found, which was still a little small for the entire group, but the others didn’t seem to mind. They just laughed and joked, being mindful to keep quiet. There weren’t any large animals who lived in the caves, they promised, so they should be fine. They would be fine. 

Arthur was sitting on a rock a few feet from Merlin. He was staring into the fire they had created (Merlin hated it, but they needed to be warm. They had roasted some of the food they’d brought over it and it was fine), not looking at Merlin. He hated it. He had ruined everything. Why couldn’t he have just kept it in? The clearing would have been fine. 

Merlin looked away, arms crossed. Gwen asked him a question, and he responded. He didn’t even know what the conversation was, but he did his best to converse. After a few minutes, he noticed that Gwaine had left the conversation and was now talking to Arthur in the corner, voices low. But not low enough, not in such an enclosed space. Despite himself, knowing he shouldn’t, he listened in. He wanted to know if Arthur hated him now. God, please. He didn’t want Arthur to hate him. He wouldn’t blame him, though. He hated himself. 

“-I just felt so useless. Like a worthless lump. He was freaking out, sobbing, and I was just frozen,” Arthur mumbled, using a stick to draw something in the dirt. Gwaine hummed, shaking his head. 

“No, Arthur. You just have never had to deal with panic attacks. I have.” At the words, Arthur looked up, eyebrows furrowed. Gwaine smiled ruefully. “Mother would get afraid, sometimes. Think we were still running from the war. She’d wake up screaming in the middle of the night, like a banshee. I had to learn how to help her. It took a lot of trial and error, sometimes doing nothing more than making it worse. It didn’t help that I’d have problems myself, sometimes. After a while, I learned how to calm her, and myself, down pretty regularly. I can teach you. And him, once he’s ready. Can’t guarantee it’ll always work, as I just fucked around until I found something that sometimes worked, for me at least, but hopefully it helps. He loves you, Arthur. Don’t forget that, even if it doesn’t seem like it when he’s upset. Mother would sometimes not recognize me, thinking I was a soldier or something. Don’t take it personal, yeah? He’s not really all there. He’s just remembering.” 

Merlin felt his stomach clench at the words. Was he really that bad? Would this happen again? God, he hoped not. Maybe he could use his magic to help him. He remembered Gaius talking to him about spells for the mind. Ones that could calm a person down if they were panicked. He remembered seeing Gaius use them a few times, on people who had fled from war zones and had wide, terrified eyes, unable to realize they were no longer in war. Once his magic was back to full strength, he’d work on perfecting those spells, turning them inward for when he might need them. They weren’t perfect, were more a balm over a gaping wound, but maybe it could help in the moment. He didn’t ever want to be that afraid again. Ever.

He heard as Arthur sighed, still playing with his stick. 

“I know. I know. I just wished I could have helped him more. Thank God you’re here, ay, Gwaine? Never thought I’d say those words.”

Merlin felt a smile rise unbidden as he saw Gwaine shove Arthur, making an offended noise. Arthur laughed, stifling it with his fist. 

“I am a delight,” Gwaine sniffed, crossing his arms. Arthur gave him a fond look, bumping his shoulder against Gwaine’s. 

“Yeah, I guess you are,” Arthur grumbled, rolling his eyes. Gwaine looked like he wanted to make a retort, but instead he just smiled, shrugging. 

“You’ll get the hang of it. We’re all in uncharted territory now. Who knows what’s gonna happen next, right? All we can do is go through it together. And Arthur, don’t hesitate to ask for help, okay? I know you’re the big manly type, wanting to deal with everything alone. But you don’t have to. I’m here. Merlin is here. We’re all here. If it ever gets too much and you don’t want to burden Merlin, come to me. Can’t promise I’ll be able to help, but I can always listen. And, maybe, if you ask nicely, I won’t even be an arse about it.”

Arthur scoffed at that, rolling his eyes, trying to look like he was annoyed. But he was also smiling softly at Gwaine, eyes shining with gratitude. Merlin felt his stomach clench for some reason. Oh, Christ. Was he actually feeling… _jealous_? Eugh. 

“I don’t even know if that’s possible, mate. Your default setting is arsehole, after all.”

Gwaine snickered at that, looking around to make sure no one was listening. Merlin carefully looked away, back at the conversation he was supposed to be a part of but had lost track of entirely. Something about a childhood adventure in these caves. It didn’t hold his interest. He looked back to his former lover and current betrothed (still sounded strange), eyes intent as Gwaine put his hand on Arthur’s, gently. 

“Yeah, but I can sometimes be serious. Sometimes. In small quantities.” At Arthur’s skeptical look, Gwaine smiled, shrugging. “Alright, alright. You caught me. But I can try. For you? I’d do just about anything.”

Merlin’s stomach clenched tight again. He was happy for them, both of them, that they had each other to help cope with the mess that was Merlin. Honest. But it hurt that they were bonding over his inability to be a strong person. Maybe Arthur would realize that Gwaine was clearly the superior choice, not all weak and fucked up like Merlin was. Then they’d fall in love, get married, have a family and a life. Without worthless Merlin. 

“You can’t just say things like that, Gwaine. Christ,” Arthur grumbled, shaking his head. His cheeks were flushed, though, eyes adverted. Merlin was so focused on the look, heart clenched, that he didn’t notice Gwaine’s eyes on him until it was too late. He looked into the deep brown eyes, not liking how they seemed to look right through him. Gwaine smiled, carefully removing his hand from Arthur’s, shaking his head. Like he was trying to say he wasn’t trying anything. Merlin knew. It was fine. It was fine. It was-

“Yeah, alright. Just keep that in mind, yeah? I’m gonna go take a piss, I’ll be right back. Go talk to your boy, yeah? I think he needs you right about now.”

Gwaine winked at Merlin, before standing and stretching. The cave ceiling was too low to stand at full height, so Gwaine had to hunch. It was mildly amusing. Arthur made a noise of complaint, grabbing his sword from where it lied beside him, tossing it to Gwaine. They had all eyes on them, at the moment, the space too small to ignore one of them standing. 

“Take that with you. Just to be safe.”

Gwaine nodded, not protesting at all, and wandered out of their main area to find a good place to do his business. He took one of the torches, so he could see where he was going. That was good. 

Merlin, even though he felt shaky, stood and made his way over to Arthur, smiling weakly as he sat. He uttered a soft silencing charm, depleting the magic that was slowly returning, but knowing it was needed. He didn’t want people overhearing them. 

“Arthur,” he said, at the same time the man said “Merlin.”

He smiled at their synchronicity, but nodded his head at Arthur, indicating he go first. Arthur nodded, clearing his throat. 

“I just wanted… are you okay?” Arthur blurted, grimacing a second later. He seemed nervous. Like he didn’t know what to do. Merlin hated it. He really, really did. 

“Yeah, I… no. I don’t know. I’m trying to keep moving, it’s just…” he didn’t know how to explain it. He felt fine, for the most part. It was just whenever he stopped to think about it that his mind began to panic, his chest tight and constricted. He hated it, honestly. He wished he could be stronger. 

“Yeah, I think I get it. You don’t have to keep anything from me, though, okay? We’re a team. We’re in this together. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want. I won’t force you. But I’m here. If you need me.”

Merlin felt his heart swell, his lips rising into a smile as he looked at his beloved. Arthur was looking at him with a quiet intensity, like he meant the words entirely. Merlin couldn’t help how he leaned forward and kissed Arthur sweetly. He knew that his (his, yes, his) friends would still be able to see them if they looked over, but he didn’t care. He needed to feel Arthur, in that moment. To not be so alone.

Arthur kissed back, soft and sweet, his hand coming up to cup the back of his head gently. It was nice, Merlin felt. Secure. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Arthur,” he muttered softly against soft lips, trembling slightly. He hated admitting to weakness, but it was true. He had never felt so lost before. Arthur hummed, wrapping arms carefully around him. Part of Merlin felt scared, like he was being constricted, but most of him felt safe and secure. That part won out, Merlin sighing as he leaned his head against Arthur’s chest. 

“I know, my love. I… me too. But we’re here together. All of us. We have a plan. We know roughly where we’re going. The rest can be figured out later. We need to find out what artifact my father is using. That should be our main priority. If we can learn that, we can find a way to counter it.”

Merlin nodded, burrowing closer to Arthur. He could see the leather cord that held the charm he’d given Arthur, as well as his signet ring. He felt his chest tighten. Part of him was still so terrified about that. He honestly hadn’t really mean to make it into a proposal. He’d just… realized it was the best option available. Not that he didn’t want to get married to Arthur! No, he did. He really did. It just… it all was so much. 

He didn’t say anything else, though. Just stayed in Arthur’s embrace, the silence thick around them. He’d created a two-way silencing charm, wanting total privacy. It was nice. Just him and Arthur. 

Eventually he pulled back and sighed, hunched over. Arthur put his hand against his back, steady and firm. It was nice. Steadying. Merlin sighed again, looking at the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry. About earlier,” he muttered, cheeks warm as he remembered his senseless panic. “I don’t know why I freaked out. There was nothing wrong with the clearing. I just…”

He trailed off. He honestly didn’t know what ‘he just.’ He didn’t really even know why he’d been so afraid. What had made him so afraid. It felt so distant, now. Arthur hummed, shaking his head. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Merlin. You’ve been through so much since yesterday. You’re allowed to be scared. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help. Thank God Gwaine was there, or I’d probably have just made things worse,” Arthur muttered, tone dark. Merlin frowned, shaking his head. 

“No, don’t say that. You were fine. I think… I know some spells, that can help if that happens again. I’ll just need to be grounded enough so I can cast them. I don’t know what that was. But I…” Merlin hesitated, not knowing if he wanted to confess his eavesdropping or not. But he didn’t want to keep secrets from Arthur, not anymore, so when the man looked at him in question, he shrugged. “I overheard what you and Gwaine were saying. About panic attacks and whatnot.”

Arthur paled, frowning. Merlin hated making him upset, but he figured it was better than lying to him. 

“Merlin, I’m sorry, I didn’t… fuck,” he muttered softly, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. Merlin shook his head in response, grabbing Arthur’s hand, like Gwaine had. 

“It’s okay! It’s fine. I just... I don’t know. Please know that I love you, more than anything. And it’s okay if you don’t know how to help. Fuck, I don’t know how to help. This is all so fucked up. I’m trying to keep it together, but it all feels so much. Even thinking about what happened... it hurts. I can barely look at fire without freaking out,” he claimed bitterly. He hated it. He shook his head, though, when Arthur frowned and opened his mouth. He kept talking, needing Arthur to understand. “But I don’t expect you to know how to make it better. It’s okay to not know. We just have to muddle through, somehow. But we’ll do it together, okay? Don’t… don’t be afraid to talk to me. If it ever becomes too much. I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me.”

There was silence for a second, before Arthur nodded. He swallowed thickly but smiled at Merlin. 

“Okay. We’ll figure this out, Merlin. I promise. If it ever gets too much, just let us know. If anyone tries to give you shit, I’ll hit them. If you don’t like a plan, just let me know. We’ll alter it. I don’t want you to ever feel trapped. We’re in this together.”

Merlin smiled at that, nodding. He then yawned, his exhaustion catching up to him. He was so tired. Arthur looked worse, dark bruises forming under his eyes. Merlin hummed, taking down his silencing charm quickly. 

“We should all get some sleep,” Merlin stated to the group at large, everyone going silent at his words. Gwaine, who had returned at some point, nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah, we’ve got a long day ahead of us. So shut up, you windbags. I swear, can’t hear myself think with you all talking nonsense,” Gwaine groused, grinning despite it. One of the men rolled his eyes, throwing something that Merlin couldn’t see at Gwaine.

“Like you think,” the man, named Owain, retorted, making the other men laugh. Merlin honestly didn’t know the man that well, as the two never really spoke. The only ones Merlin really knew were Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, Leon, and Gwaine, of course. The other three men were more unknown to him. He believed the other two were named Pellinore and Bedivere, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Arthur was less friends with them, the men closer to the others than Arthur, so he had heard less stories about them than the other five. Maybe he should rectify that. After all, they were willing following both him and Arthur, to what might end up being their deaths. He regretted never really knowing Ewan, after all. 

After a couple minutes of good-natured ribbing, the men agreed. They all had their own bedroll, Arthur buying the two of them new ones with the gold he’d taken from his room before fleeing (which had been incredibly smart of the man. Merlin hadn’t even thought of it. Thank god he had Arthur to make up for his stupidity). The other men had all sacrificed an outfit for Merlin, who had nothing. None of them were his size, all of the others bulkier or shorter, but he’d be able to size them down or up after he rested, and his magic was at full power. He could probably do it now, but he’d rather wait until he was stronger. It was a bad idea to use magic so soon after draining it down. 

He decided against changing, though, instead grabbing the bedroll and rolling it out near the wall. The space was so small that it was hard to find free space. Arthur came over and spread his own roll out beside Merlin’s, a question in his eyes, looking hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure Merlin wanted him so close. Merlin just smiled, nodding. He didn’t think he could sleep without Arthur beside him, honestly. Arthur smiled wide, nodding back, looking relieved. 

There was one moment of tension when the men realized that Gwen wouldn’t be able to sleep apart from them, unless she wanted to sleep in a separate chamber entirely, which was not advised, since there was no chamber large enough nearby. If anything happened, she’d be blocked off from them. Gwen solved the problem herself, however, rolling her eyes and placing her bedroll right beside Lancelot’s, hers against the wall, like him and Arthur’s. A soft blush was on her face, answered by Lancelot, but they were smiling softly at each other. Gwaine wolf whistled, causing Lancelot to throw his sock at the man. Gwaine yelped, but didn’t retaliate, just shook his head with a smile as he lied on his bedroll. Elyan looked like he opposed it, but he said nothing as he settled his own bedroll down, shaking his head. 

Soon after, the men were starting to nod off, snores filling the air. Merlin was lying on his bedroll, looking at the roughhewn ceiling, heart beating fast. Arthur was removing his boots carefully, seeming to be taking his time. He seemed hesitant. Merlin hated it but didn’t know how to fix it. Soon enough, though, Arthur was done and laid down beside him, only a couple inches between them. Arthur was facing him, a soft look on his face. Merlin shuffled and faced Arthur, smiling back. 

“Are you okay?” Arthur muttered, almost inaudible. Merlin heard him, though. He shrugged. What could he say?

“No,” he replied, honest. He wasn’t. How could he be? But he’d get through it. He told as such to Arthur, who nodded. 

“I’ll always be here, so if it ever gets too much, tell me. I’ll help,” Arthur muttered, his eyes drooping, though he struggled to keep them open. Merlin smiled softly, leaning forward to kiss his betrothed (betrothed. God, what a word, eh? Betrothed). Merlin nodded against his lips. He was prevented from saying anything else when a large yawn split his mouth in two, blinking as a wave of tiredness hit him. Arthur chuckled, leaning forward and kissing his nose gently. Arthur wrapped tentative arms around him, pulling him carefully closer. Merlin went forward willing, sighing in relief. God, he adored being in this man’s arms. 

“Get some sleep, my love. You need it,” Arthur muttered, kissing the top of his head tenderly. “And don’t have any nightmares. That’s an order.”

Merlin laughed at the words, eyes drooping despite himself. Oh, if only it worked that way. Maybe it did. He could only hope. 

“You too, Arthur. Get some sleep. And don’t have any nightmares.” 

Arthur smiled softly at him, nodding his assent. Soon his eyes were closed, his breathing steady. 

Merlin sighed in contentment, shifting so his back was to Arthur’s chest, finding that position very comfortable to him. He felt secure. Safe. 

His eyes slid shut and his breath started to even out.

And, to his immense surprise, he didn’t have a single nightmare that night. 

Huh. What do you know? 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Arthur looked around at the ancient forge they had finally been able to locate (no thanks to Gwaine. ‘ _I think it might be over here… no, no, over there… hm, or maybe it was back that way, a league away?_ ’ Honestly) with a frown on his face. It had taken them two days to find the thing, and now that they were here, he wasn’t sure if it would be possible to fix up or not. 

The last couple of days had been… interesting, to say the least. It had been years since he’d spent so much time in the presence of his friends, and he’d forgotten how bloody _annoying_ they were. 

Now. Don’t get him wrong. He adored his friends. Even the ones he didn’t spend much time with meant a lot to him. More so now that they were willingly following him into danger. But they kept joking around. Treating this as a joke. Like they were camping or something. And he understood. That’s just how they all were. How he used to be. 

But he wasn’t like that anymore. He’d changed so much since he’d last spent an extended amount of time at home. So had they, but it was just surreal, being surrounded by them again. He wasn’t so sure they understood how serious all of this was, even with what he had told them, though. 

They were good with Merlin, though, and his panic. Merlin had only had one other true panic attack since the first one. It had been the other day, when Leon had cut his arm on a branch, the cut fairly deep. Merlin had panicked, the blood reminding him of the siege of Camelot, as Arthur privately called it. It wasn’t technically a siege, more a coup or a slaughter, but siege sounded cooler. 

Gwaine had helped again, though Arthur hadn’t been useless. He’d spent the day after they had left the mountain talking to Gwaine, when he wasn’t walking with Merlin, getting information on how to help with panic attacks, as Gwaine called them. Apparently, it was best to try and remind the person they were no longer in that situation, as they were likely stuck in a flashback and didn’t realize they no longer were in danger. Telling them they were in a flashback helped, as did getting them to see that their surroundings were currently normal, not whatever they were fearing they were. It was also good to get their breathing back to normal, as hyperventilating just made the body panic more, feeling like it was going to die. He also wasn’t supposed to make sudden movements, or touch Merlin without asking permission, as that might scare the man more. 

It had been a bit daunting, but he had done what he could, Gwaine, surprisingly, helping him. Gwaine had always been such a brash, rough-and-tumble kind of man that Arthur sometimes forgot he had a softer side to him, too. Caring. He’d always been good with his mother when the woman had gotten sick. He was grateful for that, now. After calming the man down somewhat, Merlin had been able to mutter a spell that took the residual panic away, which relieved them all.

Other than that, Merlin had been mostly fine, startling a bit more than usual, but nothing too bad. He clutched the staff Arthur had given him, though, like it was a lifeline. 

Arthur remembered the man’s face when he’d first seen the thing, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. 

They had woken early that morning, Merlin waking with the sun like usual. He’d woken when Merlin had, and he’d woken the others soon after. He had taken Merlin with him while the other men got breakfast ready, heading to the cavern he’d left the staff in. 

He’d been a bit afraid that the thing wouldn’t be there. He’d put it in the most out of the way cave, hidden amongst a bunch of rocks. He didn’t know what else he could do to hide the thing. He knew that not many people went through these caves, but a lot of children liked to explore them. The cave he had hidden it in was so hard to find if one hadn’t spent several weeks of their childhood exploring them, that he didn’t think it would be discovered easily. Still, part of him had been nervous. 

For no reason, he learned, the staff still lying where he’d left it. It was glowing slightly, he noticed. Huh. It hadn’t been doing that when he’d left it. 

Merlin had gasped, though, eyes wide as Arthur handed him the thing. He had grabbed it, hesitant, the light becoming blinding as a flash of power filled the room. Arthur had felt it course through him, like fire. But a good fire. Warm and pleasant. Loving. 

When the light had faded, Merlin was still standing there, looking the same as he had a minute before, but he seemed… More, somehow. He couldn’t quite describe it. More powerful, perhaps? More confident? Whatever it was, Merlin looked better, somehow. 

“Where did you find this?” Merlin had muttered, wonder lacing his words. Arthur had shrugged, feeling strangely awkward. 

“It had been your birthday gift, for your twenty-first birthday. Freya had gotten me the staff, saying it was the best around, since it had this weird crystal embedded in it. When that undead sorcerer came to battle you, I had asked the Dragon what I should do to stop him, as Gaius said he was a wraith and only a blade forged in a Dragon’s breath could kill it. Seeing as sword play was illegal, I had no idea what to do. Kilgharrah said that if he blessed a staff, it should do similar effects.”

He had paused then. He was hesitant to bring up the late king, not wanting to hurt Merlin, but the king was part of the story. It seemed the former prince was remembering what had happened next, regardless, his face crumbling, so Arthur had hurried through the rest of his tale. 

“Anyway, the Dragon explained that only you could use it. That it would be deadly and dangerous in the hands of anyone else. When he learned someone else had used it, Kilgharrah got furious and told me to bring it as far away as I could, where no one could find it. I listened and headed to Fayford, putting it here. It’s been here ever since,” he had explained, rushing his words a bit. Merlin had breathed deeply, but nodded, smiling weakly. 

From there, Merlin had been practicing with it once they got outside. His magic had been building, he had said, though it hadn’t been fully recovered the morning when he’d woken. After touching the staff, though, he’d felt fully charged. Arthur was glad. He knew not having his magic made Merlin feel useless and scared. He was glad the staff had helped. 

They had then spent the rest of that day heading to where Gwaine had vaguely recalled hearing about the old forge. They spent hours meandering around the countryside, trying to keep off main paths to be safe. 

They had finally come across it that afternoon, roughly where Gwaine had said he’d heard about it. It was a couple miles away from the village, in the middle of a forest, for some reason. Arthur had no idea why a forge existed so far from the town, but he was sure the villagers would have a story about it, if he asked. But it didn’t matter. It was good, since it meant it had escaped Balinor’s notice. It was surrounded by woods, so they were mostly covered, too, less likely to be detected. 

The forge was really old and rusted, though, which was a problem. Elyan had taken one look and had grimaced, shaking his head. 

“I honestly have no idea if any of this is useable, Arthur. Father’s forge was always so well kept in Camelot. We also don’t have any molds. We’d have to make or find those first, since we don’t have any long pieces of steel or iron. But for the forge itself… there’s a lot of repairs that need to be made. I don’t know if we have the time or ability to even do any of it.”

That had been down-heartening, but it wasn’t all hopeless. He supposed. Arthur had nodded and had gone around the forge, trying to see if there was anything useable or salvageable that they could maybe use. 

While he did that, his friends doing the same, Merlin was walking around the room, frowning as he looked at the rusted material. He was shifting the staff in his hands, looking at it as he looked back at the materials. 

Arthur looked up when he hummed, the man turning to Elyan and Gwen, who were whispering to each other, looking like they were deep in discussion. They both looked up when Merlin cleared his throat. 

“I might be able to restore the forge to its former self,” he announced, causing everyone in the room to then stare at him in bafflement. Arthur had learned to just go along with it. Whenever he said something weird like that, he just chalked it up to ‘magic’ and left it there. 

“How?” Leon asked, frowning, looking at the dusty and rusted forge. He understood the confusion. It did look far too busted to be fixed, even through the use of magic. If anyone could, though… Merlin hummed, shrugging, while lifting the staff slightly. 

“I know of a spell that can restore things to their previous state. It’s related to the spell that can deconstruct something to its base. Usually I just use it when I break a cup or a glass, fixing it up like it had been. I honestly don’t know if I can restore twenty some odd years of time, but this staff that Arthur gave me seems to be amplifying my magic. It might work. If I can do it, would you be able to create the things you needed, Elyan, like molds? I don’t want to bother if it couldn’t even be done. I mean, I’m not trying to sound rude! Just, you know. It’ll take a lot of power. That’s all.”

Merlin looked adorable as he tried to not be offensive, blushing lightly. Elyan was frowning, but Arthur knew he was just thinking, not offended or anything. Eventually he nodded, though he looked uncertain. 

“I don’t really know, but I might. I’m sorry I can’t promise more than that, it’s just been a while since I’ve been in a forge. Dad would tell me how to do things, after the ban, but I’ve never been able to fully put it to the test. Not creating a sword from scratch. I know the logistics, yeah, but never put it to practice. I can try, though.”

“And I can help,” Gwen claimed, nodding. She’d been two when the ban had happened, having less experience than Elyan in an actual forge, but Arthur knew that Tom had explained everything to his children about blacksmithing, their family working as blacksmiths for several generations. Since Camelot had been founded if Tom was to be believed. The man had wanted to keep the art alive, in the hope that the ban was lifted one day. 

Merlin smiled and then nodded, slowly, as he looked at the forge itself. The ancient fireplace looked rusted and dusty. Arthur was honestly skeptical it could ever be fixed. Merlin then turned his head to look at the anvil, a meter away, nodding his head again, like he was agreeing with himself. 

“Alright. I’ll try and see if I can make the anvil like new again. If I can do it with the anvil, I can then work my way up to the forge itself.”

With that, Merlin took a deep breath and brandished the staff, eyes flashing gold as he said words that Arthur couldn’t understand. He watched, though, in awe as the dust and rust seemed to vanish from the anvil, disappearing as the seconds passed. Finally, after about twenty seconds, Merlin stumbled back, blinking. Arthur darted forward and steadied the man, who smiled his thanks.

But sitting, center of the room, was a normal looking anvil. It wasn’t brand new or anything, but it looked useable. To his untrained eye, at least. Elyan let out a word of excitement, rushing forward to examine the anvil with scrutiny. 

“That’s amazing!” The man exclaimed, looking at Merlin with newfound respect. Arthur was glad. While Elyan had stopped hating Merlin a long while ago, he was still a bit wary around the former prince. He was glad to see him appreciate Merlin for once. Merlin just smiled shakily, taking in a deep breath. 

“Yeah, but it took a bit out of me. It might take me a bit to build up my strength before trying that again. Which tools do you need to make the swords? Separate those out and I will work on fixing them up over the span of the next couple days. Before I do that, though, I’m going to put some protection spells up around the forge. Charms that can detect if anyone foreign comes within a mile of the forge, or glamour’s to make it look like the forge is still empty and not in use. Things like that. You all should probably try and sweep the floors and stuff, make the place livable, since I assume that we’ll be staying here a while. Please.”

The others nodded, moving around to do as Merlin said. Gwaine was frowning though, arms crossed. 

“You sure you won’t overexert yourself, Merlin? That sounds like a lot,” Gwaine questioned. Arthur felt it was a fair point, but he trusted Merlin to know his limits. For the man to not surpass them, however, was another story. Merlin shrugged, grinning. 

“Oh, Gwaine! Have some faith in me, please. I can do this stuff in my sleep. The time reversal spell is a bit tricky, yeah, but the rest is easy, peasy. Some might even call it lemon-squeezy.”

“Yeah, but is it down and sleazy?” Leon replied, making the other men laugh. Merlin kept grinning, only a touch manic. 

“I’ll be fine. My magic is all built up from the teleportation I did, so there should be no problem using it anymore. I promise I’ll stop if it gets too much, though, alright?”

Gwaine looked at him for a moment longer, scrutinizing. Merlin just stared back, evenly. Eventually, Gwaine nodded, satisfied enough it seemed. 

“Fine. I’m going to head out and set some traps for some animals. Maybe have some fresh dinner tonight. Anyone want to join me?”

“You’re just looking to escape the housework,” Percival cried, the other men grumbling in agreement. Gwaine just laughed, shooting him an obscene hand gesture. 

“Well, guess I won’t be sharing my catch with you, dear Percy!” Gwaine exclaimed, sweeping out the door with a flourish. The men rolled their eyes but set to work making the place habitable. Arthur grabbed some clean looking cloth and set about wiping down the layers upon layers of caked on dust and animal droppings. Eugh. Disgusting. 

In the end, it took the rest of the afternoon to clean the main room. It wasn’t perfect, the appliances still rusted and useless, but they had a space to rest. There were several other rooms, however, so they had much left to do. Luckily, once they got into a rhythm, it didn’t take long to clear the other few downstairs rooms, which had less things in them. The building itself was two stories, though the staircase was rotting somewhat. They could head upstairs, carefully, but they probably shouldn’t do it often. There was enough space downstairs for them all to have some space to their selves, at least. 

The fireplace in the kitchen was usable, at least, after Gwen cleared it out. It didn’t have any rusted parts like the forge did, so they were able to build a fire to protect against the April chill. Merlin promised that his glamour would hold up through the night, though he’d have to touch it up in the morning, so no one would notice the smoke. 

It was nice, Arthur decided. Homely. Quaint. Having eleven grown adults in the relatively small space made things a bit claustrophobic, but it wasn’t unbearable. He actually kind of liked it, having all his friends here. It made things seem less terrifying. He did still wish the others would take it a bit more seriously, but it seemed less important, here. It was good. 

Merlin seemed more relaxed, as well, though he refused to look at the fire. He didn’t even like being in the same room as it if he could help it. Arthur understood, as he also didn’t quite like the scent of the smoke, reminding him of their desperation as they fled Camelot, but the castle had never really been his home. Gaius’s quarters and, later, Merlin’s room had been his home, and he’d seen neither of them burn. Merlin’s home had been the entire castle, however. He knew the people who resided in it, maybe even some of the guards and Mages who had died that day. No wonder fire made him nervous. Besides that, though, he seemed to be in higher spirits now that they were somewhere relatively safe. 

They couldn’t stay too long, though, the Dragon’s warning still ringing in his ear. As soon as they had enough swords for everyone, to defend themselves if they came across their enemy, they’d have to leave. Elyan said it would take a while, though, as making a single sword could take an entire day, sometimes. And he’d probably go through a lot of trial and error, working to put theory to practice. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to stay longer than a fortnight. Not only was that unsafe for them, but he feared leaving his father in charge for too long. He said he didn’t want executions, but who knew what the man would do. What his ‘curing’ would entail, or if it would do more harm than anything else.

By the end of the night, the forge was looking relatively decent. Elyan and Gwen had picked out the tools they’d absolutely need to create swords, laying them out before Merlin. Merlin had been able to fix most of them before saying he needed to sleep before fixing the rest. Gwaine had been able to trap three rabbits and a couple field mice, so they had a nice stew, mixed with some herbs Arthur had gathered around the forest, needing to get out for a bit. There had also been a stream relatively nearby, so they had fresh water. Merlin had been nervous about letting them wander the forest, afraid someone would see them, but hadn’t made too big a deal about it. He’d been worried, though. So, to ease his mind, Arthur had been careful to cover his hair with a cloak he had brought, to make it harder to recognize him. It had made Merlin smile gratefully, which he was happy with. 

Dinner was a lively affair, the men sharing stories from their youth, both reminiscing and telling their tales to a new ear. At some point, though, it had turned from their epic quests (more like stupid mischief they had caused), to telling embarrassing stories about Arthur as a child, to his mortification but Merlin’s delight. 

“He didn’t!” Merlin cried, tears streaming down his face as he laughed, Arthur’s so-called friends cackling in mirth. 

“He did!” Leon replied, shaking his head. Leon was the oldest of their group, already nearly a man when they had all first started officially hanging out together, so he was the most mature of them all, and was more the dad of the group. He could still be an utter arse, however, and incredibly immature. 

“I was twelve!” Arthur defended, cheeks bright red. Merlin laughed harder at that, leaning against Arthur for support. Arthur briefly thought about moving and letting the prat fall to the ground, but his love for the man (though he was bitterly reconsidering that affection) stayed him. He was a good significant other. Unlike some people, he thought with a sniff. 

“That’s not an excuse! When I was twelve, I never thought it was a good idea to provoke a sleeping bear, then get trapped up a tree for hours after running away from it. Also, why did you climb a tree?! Bears can climb trees!”

“He’s an idiot!” Gwaine called, cackling. The bastard hadn’t even been there for this adventure, what right did he have to comment?! “He didn’t learn bears could climb until I bloody told him. He’d been thirteen at the time, eyes wide.” 

“Alright, can ‘make fun of poor Arthur’ hour be over now?” He ground out, his stomach clenching with his mortification. He could take some good-natured ribbing, of course he could. Gwaine was his best friend after all. But he was strangely upset by all the jokes they were making at his expense. It had been going on for a while, too, all of them sharing some story or account, one after the other. It was just a bit too much. 

Merlin noticed, feeling the tension rising in Arthur’s body. Merlin sobered a bit, though he was still grinning as he sat up straight. He had some apology in his eyes, though, like he was sorry for laughing so hard. He bumped his shoulder against Arthur’s, smiling prettily. It wasn’t fair, Arthur lamented.

“Alright, alright. Not all bears can climb trees, anyway, so it’s not that bad,” Merlin pacified, before launching into a story about a bear he’d fought off with magic, once. 

The conversation was more pleasant after that, but his upset didn’t leave, not entirely. He honestly didn’t know why he was so upset by it. He usually had such a thick skin. 

He guessed it had something to do with Merlin, he realized once everyone had settled down and they were getting ready for bed. He didn’t want Merlin to think poorly of him. He’d always hated it, he remembered, when he’d been younger, and Gwen would hear about his downfalls and failings. Or, worse yet, be there to see them. He wanted Merlin to think highly of him. To think he was strong and mighty. Not a fool. Nor incompetent. He’d grown a lot over the years and he’d not made such a fool of himself in a while. He liked to think, at least. He didn’t want that to be Merlin’s impression of him, he guessed. 

“Hey. You okay, darling?” He heard Merlin ask, voice low. Arthur shivered, partly at the tone, but also at the endearment. They hadn’t done much in the way of endearments, mostly sticking to ‘love,’ or ‘my love,’ so it was nice to hear another. Arthur smiled, turning to the man, who was looking at him with a look of mild concern. He shrugged. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Honey bun,” he added, making Merlin snort, grinning. 

“Alright. I just wanted to make sure,” Merlin claimed, before pausing. He looked Arthur in the eye, a small frown making its way in his lips. “You know I don’t think any less of you now, yeah? The stories were endearing, nothing else. You’re not an idiot, Arthur. Maybe a bit foolish, at times, but not a fool. I’m the same. Besides, it’s not like you’ve never been told embarrassing stories about me. Don’t think I’ve not heard you talk to Freya, giggling about something or other.”

Arthur smiled, remembering some of the things Freya had told him, conspiring. None of it had been bad, just adorable. Hm. Perhaps that was Merlin’s point. 

“I don’t giggle,” was all he said, rolling his eyes. Merlin laughed, eyes crinkling with his mirth. It was a good look on him. He sobered a second later, nodding sagely. His eyes were still alit with humor, though. 

“Oh, of course not, Sir Manly Man. I’d never dream of insulting you so, please, accept my humble apology.” Merlin then bowed, with a flourish. It was Arthur’s turn to laugh, shaking his head at Merlin’s antics. Some of the others were staring at them in bewilderment, shaking their heads, though Gwen was smiling at him softly. He could see a hint of pain was in her eyes, however. It made Arthur ache, but he knew she was happy with Lance. Perhaps, in another life, they could have worked. But he wouldn’t trade Merlin for anything. He wasn’t even sorry. 

He turned back to his betrothed, soft smile on his lips. He put a pondering look on his face, humming as he pretended to think about it. 

“Alright. I’ll forgive you. If, you give me a kiss,” he leered, grinning. His friends jeered, turning away to give them some privacy, even as they grumbled. 

Merlin rolled his eyes but was smiling as he leaned over and gave Arthur a peck. Arthur pouted, upset the kiss was so quick. Merlin just wrinkled his nose and flounced away, over to talk to Gwen about something. One surprising (or not, he realized, when he stopped to think about) thing was how well Merlin and Gwen got along. Now that neither were competing for the same man, they got along famously, like two peas in a pod. Gwen had seemed to join Arthur and Gwaine’s crusade to keep Merlin happy, the girl chatting with him whenever the other two men were busy. She seemed to genuinely enjoy being around him, too, which made him happy. He still loved Gwen, though he was not in love with her. Not anymore. He cared for her deeply, despite it all, and wanted her and Merlin to get along. She was like another sister to him, now. A better sister, he thought bitterly. 

She’d taken the news of Morgana’s betrayal hard, he recalled. They had all been friends with his sister, to some extent, since Morgana would tag along with him on their adventures sometimes, but she’d been closest with Gwen. They’d become friends before Morgana officially lived in the village, meeting up whenever Morgana would visit. Arthur figured that his sister had had a crush, now that he looked back with the gift of perspective. He didn’t think Gwen returned her favor, but she did care about his sister. They all had, to come extent. Leon had even tried courting her, once, which had ended spectacularly. It would have been funny had the man not looked so heartbroken after. Why anyone would fancy Morgana, he had no idea. Less of one now. 

He knew he was being uncharitable to his sister. She hadn’t technically betrayed him, after all. She just put her trust in the wrong person, like he had. He wondered, then, what had been in that water skin she had wanted him to drink? That conversation had been swirling in his head for a while, now, the oddness of it striking him. 

She’d been very insistent that he drink from her wine. Yet, the liquid didn’t smell like wine at all. It smelled like water with maybe a hint of sourness, which may have been wine, but may have been something else. He didn’t think it was poison, as Gaius had made him well aware of what the usual poisons smelled like, but it wasn’t anything pure, either. Her words concerned him now, too. She’d called him enchanted, once, like his father had. That seemed to have really concerned her. That whole conversation made a lot more sense in retrospect, he realized. 

What was it about the wine slash not wine that stood out to him? He didn’t know. It seemed like such an innocuous thing, at the time. It had just been unusual, regardless of where her true loyalties lied. She’d never shared anything with him, not without his mother or Gwen forcing her to. Even then she’d resist, angry about it. She hated it even when trying to be nice to him. She was a very territorial person. For her to purposely give him something, especially unprompted…

“Arthur? You okay?” Merlin asked again, frowning at him. Arthur blinked, startled from his thoughts, realizing abruptly that he’d been staring at Gwen with a frown on his face for a few minutes now. The girl had noticed and was frowning back, head tilted in concern. He grimaced, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

“Uh oh. That’s not good,” Merlin joked, though his brows were still furrowed. Arthur rolled his eyes, sighing. He couldn’t get the thought out of his head, though. Not now that he’d thought it. 

He walked over to the pair, who were sitting on the ground in the corner. All the chairs were rotten, and Merlin didn’t think they were important enough to repair. Arthur took a seat beside Merlin, groaning lightly as his muscles stretched. Christ. He was getting old. He needed to start doing his exercises again, his muscles were atrophying. 

“What were you thinking about?” Gwen asked, concern on her face. Arthur shrugged, not knowing if he should tell the pair or not. But honestly… why hide it? It’s not like they all didn’t know what Morgana had done. Maybe they could make sense of it. 

“I was just thinking. About Morgana,” he started, words cautious. Gwen gasped slightly, before steeling herself, nodding for him to continue. Merlin just frowned, crossing his arms. “I’d had a couple conversations with her before, well. You know. They had made me suspicious at the time, but I’d pushed the suspicion away. She’s my sister, for Christ’s sake. But now, thinking back…”

He trailed off, trying to work out how to phrase it. Saying ‘she offered me wine, which was weird’ might sound strange. Gwen had never thought Morgana territorial, though that was likely more because Morgana liked her and wanted Gwen to like her back. Morgana never seemed to care much for Arthur’s opinion, though he was sure she cared about him. Somewhat. A little. Maybe. 

“And?” Merlin prompted, after a few seconds passed with no words. Arthur grimaced. Oops. 

“Well… she offered me wine,” he blurted, not finding a better way to put it. Like he thought, both Merlin and Gwen were looking at him like he was mad. No one else was in the room they were in, the others finding places to sleep comfortably. At least he had that. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Morgana never gave me anything. Not willingly. Or if she did, it was a game. Like she was taunting me. She hadn’t done that, here. She said it was an apology, which was also strange. Morgana never apologizes. Ever. I didn’t even think she knew the words.”

Gwen was frowning now, though Merlin still looked confused. He’d never really seen Arthur and Morgana interact, after all. Morgana had mostly stayed away from Arthur in the castle, though they’d occasionally gone out to the tavern together. They rarely were together around Merlin, though, not in a place they could act themselves in. So, the man didn’t understand their relationship, not like Gwen did. 

“Did she have a reason for sharing the wine? Because that does sound strange...” Gwen questioned, biting her lip. “Do you mind explaining the situation in more detail?”

Arthur nodded, then explained what happened. How Morgana had come up to him, shiftily, talking about Merlin and being suspicious of him. Then how she’d seemed distressed by her actions, apologizing. Then how she’d seemed to hesitate, before holding out the wine, unprompted from him. 

“It didn’t smell like wine, though,” he mused, eyes distant as he recalled the scent. “I’m not the biggest fan of wine, but I’ve poured enough of it over the past year and a half to know what it smells like. It smelled more like water, with a hint of sourness.”

“Poison?” Merlin questioned, eyes wide. Arthur shook his head. No. He was sure of that. 

“No. Not poison. She’d said that, and I didn’t disbelieve her. I could always read Morgana well, even if I denied what I saw. Maybe something else?”

Gwen was frowning, biting her lip gently, working it back and forth. She seemed to be coming up with an idea. Honestly, the girl was probably smarter than him and Merlin, combined, so if anyone could figure something out, it’d be her. Plus, she knew Morgana best, having spent hours with the girl in their youth. 

“Do you have an idea, Gwen?” He questioned, a moment later. Gwen looked up, startled, before nodding hesitantly. 

“Well, kind of. Not really. It’s just… you mentioned that she was concerned about you being enchanted, yes?” She paused, waiting for confirmation. Arthur nodded, confused. “And you also mentioned that your father had a supposed cure for enchantment. Well, what if that was it? She’d been suspicious of your interactions with Merlin, had feared him enchanting you, and was obviously in contact with your father. Maybe he’d given her his ‘cure,’ or whatever.”

Oh. Oh! Oh, that brilliant woman! 

That was it! Now that she said it, it made so much sense. Especially why Morgana had been so blindingly angry when Merlin had interrupted them! 

“Yes! Of course, that has to be it! Oh, I could kiss you, Gwen!” He exclaimed, laughing. Lance wandered into the room at that point, with Gwaine beside him, his eyebrow raised. 

“Did I miss something?” The man asked, trying to sound light but failing. Arthur grimaced, shaking his head. 

“It’s nothing. Well, not nothing. We have an idea of what my father’s ‘cure’ for enchantments is. Gwen realized it.”

Gwen was flushing, looking both embarrassed and pleased. “Well, it was nothing. Just a thought. I know Morgana, is all.”

Arthur felt she deserved a little more credit than that, but he kept quiet. He knew praise embarrassed the girl, though she did like it. Merlin was frowning though, shaking his head. 

“A potion? No… no, that doesn’t make sense. Potions are all magical. I don’t think Uther would use magic in his quest to rid the world of magic. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, what else could block magic, but magic? Your little trinket you gave me blocks magic, doesn’t it?” Gwaine questioned, leaning against the wall as he looked at the trio on the ground, frowning softly. Merlin shook his head again. 

“Not like this. That magic can be undone with a spell, albeit a powerful one. Whatever has been done to the rebels had been so much stronger. Now, it is possible to have a potion that removes enchantments, but that’s all it would do. Remove enchantments. It couldn’t prevent magic from being used on a person or remove magic entirely. There’s no potion for that.”

“Maybe Sir Uther found one,” Lance chimed in, leaning against another wall. Gwaine nodded, agreeing but Merlin shook his head again. 

“No… that’s still not right. The magic needed to create such a powerful potion… I don’t think Uther, even if he were using magic, would be able to create such a powerful potion. And they’d need to have a lot of it, quite a lot. You said it smelled like water, yeah?”

The question was directed towards Arthur, now. He nodded slowly. 

“Yes. Like sour water.”

“What do you mean? Sour how?”

Arthur huffed, shaking his head. Did it matter? Perhaps. After all, it could tell them what was in the potion. If it was a potion. 

“I don’t know. I had thought grapes, since she told me it was wine, but thinking about it, it didn’t smell fruity at all. It smelled…” hm. Think. What was it the sour scent reminded him of? Not fruit or alcohol… not poison… maybe… “metal? Yeah. Kind of metallic. Bitter, more than sour. Not like the poisons I’ve smelled before, though. Those smelled overwhelming, even just a drop. This was more subdued. Like water drunk from a goblet.”

Merlin started at that, eyes wide. 

“Was the water skin metal?” Gwaine asked, frowning. Arthur shook his head. 

“No. No metal was in it, I’m sure. I bought her the skin myself, a couple years ago, as a birthday present. Leon teased me for it, remember? It was all leather, the nozzle a form of bone, I think. I’d say ivory, but it’s wasn’t that expensive. Tastes better than metal, the merchant had said.”

Merlin was looking contemplative, biting his lip now in thought. 

“Did you get a look at the liquid,” Gwen questioned. Arthur shook his head. He hadn’t the chance. He couldn’t say anything when Merlin spoke, voice low. 

“Like water from a goblet, you say? What makes you say that?”

Arthur frowned, shrugging. 

“I don’t know. I might be wrong. I was just trying to place where I recognized the scent. It reminded me, now that I think on it, on the times I’d drink water from one of your fancy goblets. They’d always have a lingering taste of metal in them, even if I’d pour it out into a water skin or glass, like I prefer.”

Merlin let out a noise, possibly of excitement but also possibly of pain (it was unclear), eyes bright. The other four people in the room just stared at him like he’d gone mad. Merlin didn’t care, just started to slowly grin. 

“I have an idea,” Merlin stated, before pausing. They waited a few seconds, before Gwaine rolled his eyes, though his face looked hopeful. 

“Care to share with the class?” Gwaine drawled. Merlin grinned wider, eyes impossibly bright. 

“Have any of you heard of the Cup of Life?” Merlin questioned, getting confused shaking heads in response. Even Arthur didn’t know what it was, though he’d heard of it in passing. “Well, it’s a cup- goblet more like- that, if you drink from it, it will heal any wound. Even mortal ones, though that would require a sacrifice if the universe had already claimed the life for their own. I doubt that Uther is using that cup, as, for one, it cannot block magic like that. And two, it’s currently being guarded by Nimueh and the other High Priest and Priestesses of the Old Religion. However… however, what if Uther found a similar artifact? Something that _can_ block magic, maybe even remove it from another? Christ. It’s good you didn’t drink it, Arthur. I fear what it may have done to you, considering our bond.” 

Christ. Fucking hell. Arthur’s head was reeling. Could that really have been it, so simple? A cup that people drank from and it granted protection from magic? The others were looking excited, eyes wide at the words. 

“That makes sense,” Lance said slowly, nodding. “How Uther could have so many people protected by the artifact at once. But wouldn’t the water need to be in the cup? Or does it not work like that?”

Merlin shook his head, yet again. His eyes were still bright, thoughts churning under the surface. He looked fantastic like that, Arthur thought, momentarily distracted. He knew Merlin was a highly intelligent man, having a good head for strategy, when he bothered. He just usually hid it behind layers of idiocy, so his brilliance was sometimes hidden. 

“Not necessarily. The Cup of Life, after all, has been blessed by so many sorcerers over the centuries that any water put in it will be changed, even if removed. The water must be pure, though, like rain. Any other and it would be tainted. There is no saying if the artifact, if it even is a cup, would act similarly, but… it’s possible that it wouldn’t need to be in the cup to work.”

“If that’s the case,” Arthur chimed in, feeling overwhelmed, “couldn’t my father just dump some of the water from the supposed cup into the water supply, or else put the cup in the water supply, and create a mass amount of anti-magic water, or whatever you want to call it.”

Merlin, yet again, shook his head. He was going to get a headache if he kept shaking like that, Arthur thought, despairing. 

“Again, I’m only going off what I know of the Cup of Life. It’s possible I’m wrong. But, the Cup of Life doesn’t work like that. If even one drop of water that wasn’t from the cup gets into the liquid, it loses all potency. It’s no longer pure, I suppose. It also cannot be stored, as it would lose its power too quickly. And as for putting it in the water supply, well… I don’t think that would work. It would dilute the magic too much, I’d think. It wouldn’t work.”

Merlin’s voice had gotten a bit loud, as excited as he was, and his other friends were trickling into the room, frowning. Leon spoke, confused. 

“What’s going on? What are you all talking about?”

Merlin didn’t look annoyed at being interrupted. Instead, he looked excited, like he’d finally solved the trickiest puzzle. He explained to their friends what they had figured, everyone seeming to be on a spectrum between skeptical and hopeful. Merlin seemed to be working it out as he spoke, adding more details here and there. How it might be possible for such a cup to exist, as many legendary cups existed, holding power beyond knowledge. When Gwaine asked why so many cups were enchanted, Merlin shrugged. 

“They’re pretty and practical?” He offered, before launching back into his retelling. 

The men (and Gwen) went back and forth talking about the logistics of it all, of it was possible. By the end of the hour, the light having long since faded from the sky and the air chill, since they were in the room without a fire, he was starting to feel exhausted. But they had pretty much all agreed that it made sense, for the artifact to be a cup. Percy had asked if it may have been at all possible that the liquid Morgana had given Arthur was unrelated to the rebels at all, to which Merlin had shrugged. 

“It’s possible. But this is the first real lead we’ve had so far. It’s worth looking into. Ah, I wish Gaius were here! I’d bet he’d know a story about a cup that could do things like this…”

It was as everyone was getting tired, yawns becoming more and more prevalent, that Leon brought up a really important, though confounding question.

“Alright. I agree, it sounds like this might be a cup. However, how would we be able to stop it, then, or reverse the effects if it is? It sounds like the Cup of Life’s magic cannot be reversed, yes? So how could we stop it?”

Merlin hummed, shrugging. It didn’t seem to dampen his spirits. If anything, he seemed livelier. Merlin had always loved a puzzle, he thought fondly. 

“As I’ve said, I don’t know how similar this even would be to the Cup of Life. For all I know, it could be closer to the Holy Grail, which works way different, and might be fictional. But the Cup of Life can be reversed, sometimes. If you put blood in the cup, for example, the person to put it in becomes immortal.”

That had all eyes wide. Immortal? Merlin tsked, shaking his head. Again. Arthur’s head hurt just watching him. 

“Well, not immortal. More… undead. Not quite living, not quite dying. A state in between. That can be reversed by emptying the cup of any of the blood, even a single drop, killing whoever’s blood is in the cup. Who knows how this possible cup works, though? Anything is possible.”

The group fell silent at that, thinking. Eventually it was decided it was time for bed, the others wandering off to their respective sleeping areas. Only Gwen, Lance, Gwaine, Merlin, and he remained. 

“Thank you, Gwen. Really, I have no idea what we’d do without you. I doubt Arthur would ever have been bright enough to connect the dots between the water and his father,” Merlin claimed, smirking only slightly as he looked at Arthur. Hey! Alright, fair, but hey! Gwen chuckled, shaking her head. 

“Sometimes you just need a woman’s perspective,” she replied, smiling happily even as she blushed. Lance smiled at her and kissed her cheek gently. Arthur watched and didn’t feel anything other than an old, forgotten twinge. But it didn’t feel bad at all. Not like it would have, once. Good. 

“Well, we’ve got a lead on what the artifact may be. Still know fuck all about reversing it, but eh. Can’t have it all,” Gwaine claimed, grinning. Merlin rolled his eyes. 

“We can look into it. There’s a library in Camelot, inside the castle. Maybe there’s a book on it there? I doubt Uther could enter the library, if it’s been sealed, which it should have been when my fa- the ki- when the siege order was put into place. Only a sorcerer who knows the counter spell can enter it, and Morgana would never have needed to know it. I doubt any of the sorcerers who knew it would ever give it up, even on pain of death. Our most sacred texts reside there now, since fa- t-the books have been moved there over the past twenty-two years. That means Uther probably couldn’t have destroyed the texts.”

It hurt Arthur to hear Merlin stumble on his words, pain filling his eyes as he thought of his father, but Merlin pushed on, jaw clenching as he pushed passed the hurt. 

“Yeah, but how can we get into Camelot to find them?” Gwen questioned, frowning lightly. Merlin hummed. 

“We’d have to smuggle our way in, I suppose. Only a few of us, of course. I’d have to go, to unseal and reseal the chamber. We can also try asking around in Druid camps, as I know a seer in one of the camps knew what the artifact was, even though she refused to tell us. Maybe another camp will have better information. But we can focus on this later. Right now, we have to focus on making enough swords for us all, so we don’t get killed immediately should we ever get caught.”

“And train you on how to use it, ey?” Gwaine chimed in, making Arthur laugh. Oh, yes. He’d had a hard-enough time instructing Merlin on how to use a dagger. He had horrible form, too use to the motions of magic, which was more of a long-distance weapon. He didn’t understand the closer quarter combat of knife or swordplay. That was alright. He could learn. After all, Gwaine was right (for once in his life). They needed them all to know how to work a blade. If magic didn’t work against their enemy, regardless of the reason, Merlin needed to know enough to protect himself. 

“Yeah, yeah. I suppose. I still don’t like it. It feels wrong, somehow,” Merlin claimed, shivering. Drama queen, he thought lovingly. “Anyway, we should get some rest. We’ve got a long day tomorrow. Or, well. I do. Elyan still needs a few more tools fixed, not to mention the forge. I also have to extract the steel and iron from your various items. So, I, at the least, need to rest. You all need to be quiet, regardless, or I’ll hex you all into toads,” Merlin threatened, good-natured. 

Gwaine grinned rakishly, but nodded his head, his hair now far too long, shaking with the motion. Honestly, he was starting to look like a girl. Not that it didn’t suit him. It strangely did. Bastard. Arthur figured at least half his beauty came from his hair alone. So rude. 

“Alright, love. Since you asked so sweetly, and all. I hate to bereave you all of my wondrous presence, but I suppose I, too, should get my beauty rest. You don’t look this gorgeous for nothing,” he grinned, laughing at the long suffering look they all had on their faces. He did leave the room, though, to where he’d settled his bedroll. Right by the fire, Arthur noted, amused. 

Merlin wandered over to their bedrolls, which were pressed together, like usual, with Merlin’s pressed to the wall. He seemed to like that, Arthur had noticed. They’d only slept under cover the first night, in the cave, the rest of the nights spent in forest clearings, but he liked the security a firm wall or rock provided him, having their bedrolls pressed against boulders if he had to. Arthur wouldn’t begrudge him. He didn’t mind. If it made Merlin feel safe, Arthur would do just about anything. 

He watched for a second as Merlin got ready, not changing into night clothes, just removing his boots, belt, neckerchief, and jacket. He left the shirt and trousers the same. To be fair, neither were extremely uncomfortable. They were both old and worn, a pair he’d given the man he believed (which had oddly aroused him, the first time he’d realized Merlin was wearing _his_ clothes. Odd). He wouldn’t be uncomfortable at least. Arthur did the same, stretching as he went. Gwen and Lance were also in the same room, on the other side, talking softly to each other as they got ready for bed. He didn’t pay them much mind though; not because it bothered him, but because he had someone so much more important to focus on. 

“Hmm. Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, lying down and holding Merlin close. He had blown out the numerous candles that had been keeping the room well lit. Only one was still lit, but he figured it would burn out soon enough. It made the room strangely intimate, the shuffling sounds from Gwen and Lance faded with the silencing spell Merlin must have cast at one point. His staff was currently resting above their heads, leaned against the wall. Arthur hoped the thing didn’t fall and hit them in the middle of the night. That would be a bad wake up call. 

“Hmm. You too, my daisy,” Merlin murmured, grinning at Arthur incredulous sputtering. Daisy?!

“Oh, piss off,” he laughed softly, shaking his head at Merlin’s antics. 

“Get some sleep, Merlin. And don’t have any nightmares,” he said a moment later, sighing. He hadn’t really expected it to, but it seemed that the command actually worked. It didn’t help as much with Merlin’s panic attacks, for whatever reason, but it helped with the nightmares he was sure would have been plaguing the man. Not to toot his own horn, of course. 

“You too, Arthur. Go to sleep. No nightmares,” Merlin mumbled, already half asleep. It did its magic, though, and Arthur’s eyes began to droop as well. Honestly, that was the best part of the whole bond. He’d never been able to fall asleep as fast as he currently could. 

Fuck, it was nice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter made sense. Merlin got a fancy staff that I brought up several chapters ago, which I wrote to parallel Excalibur. I also hope that Merlin's kind of panic attack made sense. Like... he's had a lot going on recently. Gwaine helping calm him down was an idea I had, but I can't go too much more into it, since I don't really remember my thoughts while writing this. I was unable to read through the chapter before posting, since that would take a lot longer, and it's already been almost two weeks since the last post. If anyone has questions, feel free to ask and I will explain my thinking. :-) 
> 
> As for the whole goblet thingy... I hope that all makes sense. I explain more about it in the next chapters, since here, they're just speculating and I didn't want to give them more knowledge than would make sense. I think next chapter I go into what this artifact is and how it works in more detail, but I don't quite remember. Hopefully I post quicker than I did last time!


	33. Farewell Wanderlust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... don't even know anymore. Lots of drama in this chapter. I legit don't remember much about it, though. 
> 
> Title comes from the song Farewell Wanderlust, by The Amazing Devil. Really recommend checking out their songs, if you have the chance. 
> 
> (Also, if you're a Supernatural fan, I wrote a one-shot Destiel fic for after the finale, a fix-it of sorts. I actually liked the finale, though it had its flaws, but my fic fixes the main problem I had with the finale. In my mind, at least. It's called Bravado, if you want to check it out.) 
> 
> Enjoy!

**33 The Warlock Prince** **Farewell Wanderlust, The Amazing Devil.**

_~~~I promise you I'm not broken  
I promise you there's more,  
More to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door._

_Goodbye to all my darkness, there's nothing here but light.  
Adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night.  
This here is not make up, it's a porcelain tomb,  
And this here is not singing, I'm just screaming in tune! Because,_

_Farewell Wanderlust, you've been ever so kind.  
You brought me through this darkness, but you left me here behind.  
And so long to the person you begged me to be,  
He's down, he's dead, now take a good long look at what you've done to me~~~_

Merlin never would have thought that time could fly when he was terrified out of his mind for the state of his kingdom. And yet, before he knew it, two weeks had passed, and they all had the swords that they needed to properly defend themselves. 

It had taken a while to get the forge up and running. That had been good, honestly. A challenge. Merlin had always loved a challenge. Using his magic to turn back time, essentially, and make an object like new again… it was hard but rewarding. He didn’t quite understand the entire logistics of the spell, if he was literally turning back time for the object, or just reversing its internal memory, whatever that meant, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Not if the items became useful again. 

It took him about three days to get all of the items Elyan and Gwen needed fixed. They needed a lot of little things, like hammers and buckets, as well as some larger things, like molds they had found. That would speed up time, Elyan had said. If they didn’t have to worry about making their own molds. 

The forge itself had taken the most amount of time, obviously. It was large and had a lot of small, intricate parts. He’d had to fix the forge in stages, taking a break every few seconds to make sure he didn’t overexert himself. With the staff, he could do a lot more than he normally could, but he still had to be careful. 

Once the forge was finished, Elyan was able to get started on the swords themselves. Merlin had quickly deconstructed the steel and iron, but it hadn’t been enough for ten swords. Merlin had then duplicated some of the steel, not enough to make it weaker, but enough to give them the amount they needed. He also de-aged some of the steel or iron things lying around the house, before deconstructing them. It took a bit, but they eventually had enough metal for ten decent swords. They’d never be anything to write home about, Elyan had warned, but they just needed something that could protect themselves with. 

When he wasn’t using his magic, he was being trained by Arthur, Gwaine, and Lance about how to properly use a sword, with Gwen learning with him when she wasn’t helping Elyan. Gwen had a bit of an advantage, as she knew most of the theoretical, just hadn’t had the ability to practice it. Merlin was completely in the dark. In fact, part of him felt almost _wrong_ , practicing with Arthur’s sword. Like he was breaking the law. 

Gwen did a lot better than him in the lessons and soon she was another teacher of his, helping with his stance or his sword position. Honestly, she was the best of the four of them, actually helping. Gwaine was well-meaning but wasn’t taking the whole thing too seriously, spending more time joking around than actually helping out. Lance tried hard, and was very patient, but he wasn’t the best at actually explaining what Merlin should be doing. And Arthur…

Okay. Now, don’t get him wrong. He adored Arthur with all his heart and would love him until the day he died. Likely long after that. But, for all he was a fantastic swordsman, he was a _horrible_ teacher. 

“Just do this!” Arthur would say, brandishing the sword in a certain way. Merlin would do that. Arthur would take the sword and then go, “no, not like that! Like this!” And then do _the exact same thing Merlin did_. It was maddening. He wouldn’t explain the moves he did, he’d just do them and expect Merlin to follow along exactly. Merlin had been five seconds away from rage quitting. 

Luckily, for them all, Gwen was great at teaching and was skilled enough with language (unlike _some_ people) to verbalize what Arthur wanted him to do. 

“It’s your arm, Merlin,” she would say, helping Lance correct his arm position. “It’s slightly tilted. If you keep thrusting like that, your opponent will be able to swoop in and parry your blow, tossing your sword to the side. If you keep your arm straight, however, they’d have a harder time at that.”

Knowing why he had to do things made it easier to learn. Just being what to do or what not to do wasn’t helpful for Merlin. Yes, he understood what Arthur was telling him, to some degree. But if he couldn’t understand _why_ , it didn’t seem important. It was lucky Gwen was there or else Merlin would have driven the sword into Arthur’s stomach ages ago, destiny be damned. And the bastard would still probably criticize him. “You should have tilted your sword in the other direction, _Mer_ lin. Now I’m going to bleed to death all wrong.” Prat. 

While they did that, the other men were helping Elyan with the forge, doing what he told them. It wasn’t long before the first swords were being created, Elyan balancing them to the individual. Merlin got his own sword last, insisting that he needed a sword the least. He had his magic, which would work well enough to defend himself, as well as his little dagger. Worst case scenario, he needed a sword the least, if it would be too much of a hassle. Luckily, Elyan had been able to make enough swords for all of them, with enough left-over material to make a few daggers and crossbow bolts. They had a crossbow, Gwaine using it mostly for hunting, and it was always good to have extra bolts. 

The swords were not the best made in the world, the difference between them and Arthur’s sword staggering, but that was fine. They didn’t need the best made swords, they just needed swords. And Merlin, once they all were finished and balanced, went over them with his magic, enchanting them to be stronger, unbreakable, or very sharp. He couldn’t enchant each sword too much, or else the magic would counteract each other, but each person got their own specialized sword, unique to them. 

By the time all the swords had been made, and Merlin was deemed ‘adequate’ at swordplay by Arthur (the prat), roughly two weeks had passed since they first entered the forge. Almost three since the battle of Camelot (as Arthur called it). 

It was still hard for him. There were times he would freeze, especially when he had heard the men practicing sword fighting with their new swords for the first time. It had made him stop dead, heart clenched, eyes wide. It had taken Arthur several minutes to calm him down enough for Merlin to use the spells he had sort of remembered, which has actually helped to calm his mind a lot more. It frustrated him to no end, but at least he wasn’t plagued by nightmares. Much. Sometimes a bad dream or two would slip in, it for the most part Arthur’s command worked well. Perhaps because he wasn’t awake enough to counter it. 

Now that the swords were made, they were discussing what to do next. And it went very badly, very quickly.

They all sat around the living room, on the floor since they still didn’t have furniture, debating their next steps. Merlin wanted to head to Camelot, to head into the library and see if he could find any information on the artifact that they now had a lead on. Arthur, however, was of another mind.

“Merlin, for the last time, no! It is too dangerous and not worth it! If there was information about it in a book in the library of Camelot, wouldn’t it have been found already?! It’s a better use of our time to talk to Druid camps, see what they know!”

They’d been going back and forth for fifteen minutes now, both of them getting more and more riled. Merlin was frustrated. Yes! Alright, yes! He knew it was dangerous, he knew it could go horribly wrong, but war was nothing if not risky. Sometimes they’d have to take risks if they wanted to win. 

“Arthur, I’ve already told you! If the artifact was unknown, it’s possible that it was overlooked! Or the main use of the artifact is different to what Uther is using it for, the magic blocking is just a side effect! And we don’t know what’s going on with the Druids, do we?! Your father hates magic and has outlawed it!”

That much they had learned, even as hidden away as they all were. Lance and Leon had gone to the nearest town to gather intel and supplies a few days before, in disguise, and had listened to the local gossip. They’d come back, pale faced, explaining what they’d heard. 

It had only been a couple of weeks at the time, but Uther was already fast at work, undoing all of his father’s (and yes, it still hurt to think of him, thanks) laws, while adding new ones. Ones that outlawed the use of magic. The punishment wasn’t execution, not yet, but known sorcerers were being rounded up and put into the camps his father had used to house non-magic users. The irony was staggering. 

The Druids had been mostly left alone, as out of the way as they were, but Merlin had no doubt that Uther was planning on storming the camps. It wouldn’t be safe to head to any of the known settlements since the records were plain to see in the kingdom’s ledgers and documents. While Druids didn’t have to pay taxes, as such, they did have to contribute something to the kingdom, so the records existed. Uther would be able to find all known Druids, if they didn’t move, that was. And Merlin didn’t fancy the idea of tracking down his hiding kin, thanks. 

It honestly would be riskier going after the Druids than it would be to go to Camelot herself, as the rebels (he would still call them that, for lack of a better term) wouldn’t expect them to be brazen enough to infiltrate the castle itself. 

“Or stupid enough,” Arthur had scowled, arms crossed. 

At the moment, Arthur was turning purple with anger, looking one second away from throttling Merlin. Good! Let him try! Merlin was longing to turn him into a slimy, disgusting toad! His magic was crackling around him, not that any of these non-magical people could feel it.

“Mum, dad, calm down. I hate it when you two fight,” Gwaine interrupted, cutting off whatever Arthur was about to say in reply. 

As one, Arthur and Merlin turned to Gwaine and shouted, “SHUT UP!” in sync. Aw. Seemed they still agreed on some things. Too bad it wasn’t the right thing, he thought bitterly, scowling. 

“Merlin. You know I adore you. But you are such a fucking moron! You cannot infiltrate Camelot castle. I forbid it!”

Oh! Oh! That fucking _bastard_! He really thought he could use their bond against him?! Well! Did he have another thing coming!

“Oh, fuck you! You’re not the fucking boss of me, Arthur _fucking_ Pendragon!” He screeched, scrambling to stand, summoning his staff with a thought, the thing flying into his hands from where it had rested, a few feet away. Everyone in the room stood as one, half having hands out to stop Merlin, the other half with hands out to stop Arthur, who had also stood and was brandishing his sword. If he were looking at this from an outside perspective, with a calm head, he’d find it hilarious how furious he and his betrothed had become in a matter of seconds. At the moment, he could feel nothing but cold fury. 

“Fuck me?! I’m trying to keep you safe, you utter jackass! Sorry for caring about you!” Arthur screamed back, Gwaine holding him back while Lance tried to wrestle his sword away. He was fighting them valiantly, his eyes shining. If Merlin were a bit calmer, he’d feel terrible for making Arthur feel so upset. As it was, he’d been cooped inside for weeks, growing steadily more terrified as he realized they were getting close to finishing their current task, their next steps clouded in mystery and danger. So much could go wrong. So many variables to consider. He was so terrified it wasn’t funny. However, instead of the terror he’d been bottling, he let it out as rage, destined to rage against the first person who dared to cross him. In this case, sadly, that person happened to be his dearest love. But he was too angry and scared and terrified to remember that, at the moment. 

“I don’t need you to protect me! I never asked you to care! I can take care of myself! I don’t need you!” He seethed, eyes flashing with rage. Leon and Percival were holding him back, though it wouldn’t matter. He had magic. He didn’t have to be close to Arthur to hurt him. And god, did he want to hurt him. He had no idea why. 

He seemed that his intent worked, though, Arthur reeling back as he gasped, eyes shining with unshed tears. That was almost enough to make Merlin snap out of it, but then Arthur opened his mouth and any sympathy or regret he felt vanished like smoke, replaced by only hurt and anger and _rage_. 

“Oh really?” Arthur sneered, voice deadly quiet and calm. It sent shivers down Merlin’s spine, but he didn’t back down. He just glared at Arthur, jaw set, eyes flashing. He faltered, however, when Arthur continued, nasty smile on his lips. It was such a foreign look on the familiar face that Merlin was afraid for a second. He’d looked so much like Uther in that split second that... “Is that why you scream like a child any time you see fire, then? Such a big, brave, strong man, can’t even handle a little flame?” 

Oh. 

Merlin reeled back, then, eyes wide. He… what… why… Merlin couldn’t think as his chest constricted, tears filling his eyes at the words. He was trying! He was trying, goddamn him! How dare he throw that back in his face?! He knew! He fucking knew how sore a subject that was for Merlin!

Gwaine had set his jaw then and, before anyone could stop him, had reeled back and punched Arthur with all his strength, sending Arthur tumbling to the ground, hard. Elyan shot forward and was pulling Gwaine back, now, but he seemed content, though his eyes flashed bloody murder. 

“Okay, that’s too far, you bastard. This conversation is done with. Merlin can do whatever the hell he wants to. He’s the fucking prince, not you. You may be his betrothed, but you have no fucking right to say shit like that to him. Now, I get you’re both crawling up the walls, terrified and angry and the like. But that doesn’t mean you can tear each other apart like this. Grow the fuck up. Both of you,” Gwaine demanded, eyes hard as he looked at Merlin. Merlin felt shame fill him at the words, adverting his eyes, which still stung. He didn’t wait for anyone else to say anything, just pulled away from Percival and Leon and ran out the door, slamming it loudly in his haste. He ran past the trees, the greenery blurring as tears began to spill, his chest heaving as he tried to gasp for breaths that weren’t coming. 

How had that conversation gone so horribly wrong? One second, they were having a normal discussion about their future plans, the next they were hurling harsh words, intent on hurting the other.

People in love didn’t do things like that, he thought, fumbling through the woods. He was still clutching his staff. People who adored one another didn’t try and tear the other down. God, what had he done? What had he done? Now Arthur was going to hate him and leave him, and he’d be alone, alone, _alone, alone, **alone** -_

Merlin gasped as he tripped over a rock and fell hard, his ankle rolling as he screamed in pain, sobs bursting from his chest. God. God. 

He was in a clearing, now, but he had no idea where he actually was. He hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings as he’d run, for so long he didn’t even know how long, and now, he was here, in a clearing he’d never seen before, his ankle aching horribly. His necklace, once given to him so sweetly and lovingly by Arthur, before they’d even been a glimmer of a thing, had come loose from beneath his shirt where he usually hid it and was dangling in front of his eyes, like it was mocking him. The golden dragon glared at him, judging him. 

What had he done? Why had he said those things? Why had _Arthur_ said those things? Did he mean them? Gaius had once told him that things said in anger were rarely meant, but why say them if there wasn’t a hint of truth in the words? How could he even conceive the words if they hadn’t already been there?

Did Arthur really think him weak? Pathetic? He hadn’t said the words, but Merlin had heard it in the tone. _Pathetic_ , Arthur’s eyes had screamed, judging him for not being better. Being more. Of being strong enough to not tremble at the sight of fire, to not cry when he heard the sounds of battle. 

God. Arthur was right, wasn’t he? If he had so much trouble simply looking at fire, how could he ever even think of going back to Camelot? He’d probably burst into tears the second he entered the halls and give away their position. God. What a fool he was. What an idiot. Arthur was right. He was a goddamn moron. 

He sobbed for several seconds as his ankle ached, his staff still clutched in his fists. Everything hurt so much. It was all too much. 

The Dragon was wrong, he thought, eyes open as he heaved in air, shuddering with pain and fear. He wasn’t the person the prophecy called for. He couldn’t be. He was nothing. 

Nothing. 

_"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"_

The words were out of his mouth before he even consciously thought them, eyes stinging as he rose to kneel on the ground, knees getting muddy and wet from the damp grass, but he didn’t care. His heart was frozen while also pounding wildly. It hurt so much, and he had no idea what to do. No idea at all. He wanted it all to stop. Maybe the Dragon would eat him, and he’d not have to worry about anything else? Ha. If only. 

“You know, young Warlock, when I told you could call me for anything, this was not what I had in mind.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he rasped, hating the dry, uncaring tone the Dragon spoke in, shuddering in a breath. Or trying to. It wasn’t quite working out right. He heard the Dragon rumble above him, likely annoyed. Well, good. Maybe he could piss off all his allies today. Just his luck, eh?

“What is it you want?” Kilgharrah demanded, voice annoyed. Like he had anything better to do, Merlin thought mercilessly. Fucker. 

“I want out of this destiny. Out of this fucking prophecy. I will not be bound to that fucking arsehole for any longer, I swear it!” He yelled, trying to stand but fumbling when he put weight on his leg. He didn’t think it was broken, but it hurt something fierce. He used his staff like a walking stick and clung to it as he stood, leaning on it heavily to compensate for the fact his left ankle was throbbing like all hell. 

The Dragon, curse him, had started to laugh, making his eyes flash gold, the clearing growing dark with his anger. The Dragon sobered a bit, but still looked amused. 

“This isn’t funny!” He screamed, a flash of lightning striking mere feet away. The amused look dropped off the Dragon face, annoyance replacing it. 

“The only funny thing here is how naive and childish you are, Warlock. Here I was, thinking you old enough to handle the strain of destiny. Was I wrong, then?”

The Dragon said it like a taunt. Like he was baiting Merlin. But Merlin didn’t care. He screamed as more lightning struck, rain roaring around him as it began to pour. He didn’t know why he was so angry. He didn’t know why he felt so upset. He wanted it to stop. He hated it. He _hated_ it. 

But he couldn’t stop. 

“Yes! You were wrong! You’ve got the wrong person, you bastard! I’m not the right person for this prophecy! I quit! Find someone else!” He roared, heart beating in time with the falling of the rain he had conjured, the wind furious around him. The Dragon stared at him, uncaring. 

“Oh, if only it were that simple, Dragonlord. One cannot deny destiny just because it becomes inconvenient. Whatever tiff you and your paramour have found yourselves in is nothing compared to the weave of Fate. You are the warlock of prophecy, whether you like it or not. You will free Albion, or Albion will surely perish. Already Uther Pendragon spreads his evil from atop the throne, his ‘cure’ killing sorcerers the minute its liquid passes their lips. A true sorcerer can no more be parted from their magic than they could be parted from their breath. It kills them, slowly, from the inside out. No death is crueler than this. If you do not find a way to stop him, young warlock, all hope is lost. Magic will die, and you will hammer the final nail. Is this what you want? Is this the destiny you desire?”

The Dragon spoke lowly, his voice rumbling like the thunder Merlin had conjured. The rain was ceasing, however, as Merlin began to feel so very cold inside. Oh, God. No. He shuddered in a breath, shaking in his head. 

“I can’t do it, Kilgharrah. I can’t. I-I’m not strong enough. I can’t even look at fire without freaking out! I, I can’t… I can’t do what you want me to do. I’m going to fail. I’m sorry,” he gasped, looking up at the sky, now no longer raining but still cloudy, as tears filled his eyes again. “I’m so, so sorry. Albion will fall and it will be _all my fault_.”

Merlin shuddered as a sob escaped him, closing his eyes. He knew the Dragon was going to yell at him. Insult him. Call him useless, worthless. Pathetic. It was fine. He deserved it. He was damning the entire kingdom with his failure. His ineptitude. 

To his surprise, the Dragon didn’t start roaring at him. Didn’t start to yell. He just sat there, saying nothing, staring at him. He could practically feel the stare as it bored into him. Merlin opened his eyes in confusion after a moment passed, the only sound a rumble as the Dragon hummed. 

“It sounds like you’ve got a great deal on your plate, young one,” Kilgharrah eventually said, tone lighter than it had ever been before. Merlin was hesitant to call it kind, but... “It is common to feel overwhelmed by destiny. To feel like Fate is just tossing you around. Like a ship without its mooring. All great heroes have had their doubts. Have had their struggles. Those tales just rarely make their way into the history books. You are not weak, Emrys. You are the strongest of them all. Fate would not have called you if she did not think you worthy. Nothing is by accident, young warlock. Nothing is by chance. What will happen was always what was meant to happen. If you fail, then that was the path Fate had always wanted. But I do not think you will. I have faith in you, Merlin. Even if you do not have faith in yourself. You will save us all. That, I have no doubt.”

Merlin stared up at the Dragon, shock in his mind. What? What? 

The Dragon just stared back, calmly, unblinking. Like he hadn’t just shaken the foundation of all Merlin had ever believed in. Christ. 

“You know, don’t you,” he rasped, chest heaving. It was all so much, the information he’d just heard, but one part stuck out and niggled at him. “What the artifact Uther is using is. You know it.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question. It was obvious. The Dragon knew. 

Like he thought, the Dragon just shrugged, the way he typically did, inclining his head while moving his shoulders somewhat. 

“I may,” Kilgharrah stated. When no more words came, Merlin let out a forceful puff of air. 

“And do you care to tell me?” He questioned, though he knew the answer. The Dragon smiled, shaking his head a little. Typical. Bastard. 

“I believe you already know, Warlock,” was all he said, which both frustrated and excited Merlin. 

“It’s a cup,” he claimed, eyes keen on the Dragon, scrutinizing every expression. The Dragon’s expression didn’t change, though Merlin detected a hint of… perhaps not pride, but perhaps satisfaction, in the Dragon’s eyes? “A cup that holds the ability to, when drunk from, block all forms of magic and counter all enchantments. We figured as much. But we know nothing else. Not even what it’s called. Please, Kilgharrah, Mightiest of all Dragons. Help me. If you don’t want Albion to fall, then please. Help me. Please.”

The Dragon hummed, the rumbling sound echoing in the clearing. Merlin’s ankle still ached, his necklace plastered to his chest with the rest of his clothes, soaked through, but he barely felt any of it as he waited with bated breath. After a few moments, the Dragon shook his head, looking regretful. 

“I am sorry, young Warlock, but I cannot. I have learned my lesson, trying to go against Fate. I cannot interfere more than I already am.”

Merlin felt frustrated. On one hand, yes, he understood where the beast was coming from. On the other hand, it was bloody annoying. 

“What am I to do, then?! We can’t just keep wandering around, aimless, no idea of how to end this war! We have a lead, but no idea of how to stop it! Can the magic of the cup even be reversed?! Tell me! Please!”

The Dragon sighed, shaking his head again. If Merlin’s ankle weren’t busted, he’d have stormed away at that, so fed up with everything. Great. Great! His only lead, refusing to help him. Bloody perfect!

“I am sorry, Merlin. All I can say is that you cannot stay here too much longer. Your show of power,” the Dragon rumbled, looking up at the now clear sky, “has alerted others to your presence here. Lingering too long would be very foolish, I will say. Perhaps, Merlin, it would be good to head home. Do some reading. I’ve always found books to be most enlightening.”

It took Merlin a second to comprehend the words, as frozen as he was at the first part, but when he did, his eyes went wide, and he gasped. 

“You think I should head back to Camelot,” he muttered. A strange feeling of vindication flooded him. Ha! Take that, Arthur! His stupid dragon thought he should go to Camelot! 

Kilgharrah, like he was wont to do, just shrugged again, though a hint of a smile played on his lips. He’d never understood how Dragons could smile, his father (ow) just shrugging when he asked, but he figured it didn’t matter. 

“I cannot tell you what to do, young warlock. The future is yours to create. But do know that you must trust yourself if you are to succeed going forth. You know more than you think you do. You have more strength than you know. Do not doubt yourself, even for a second, or else you will surely fail. Listen to your other half, yes. Do not discount his concerns. But he is not the only person in this prophecy. You are just as much a part of it as he. Work together. Listen to one another. Expand. Now, I must be going. As should you, Merlin. Decide on a path to take, then take it. Do not waver. For you and you alone can craft the path you walk.”

With that cryptic nonsense, the Dragon flew into the air, almost knocking Merlin down. Like usual, he thought, his ankle aching something fierce. 

It was after the Dragon was nothing more than a pin prick in the sky that Merlin sighed and looked at his ankle, which was swelling. Wincing, he hobbled over to a large rock and poked at it, yelping at the pain. Ah. Okay. So, it _was_ broken. Good. 

With a sigh, Merlin muttered a spell, stealing himself up for the pain he knew would follow. It didn’t help, he realized, as the pain radiated throughout him, causing him to yell with the pain. Luckily, there was no one around, but it was a bit embarrassing. He tested the ankle and noted that, while it still hurt like hell, it wasn’t broken any longer. He could probably walk on it, a little, if he were careful. 

And so, Merlin stumbled to his feet, wincing with each step he took. He was glad for his staff, he felt, leaning on it heavily as he stumbled through the brush back to the house. 

It took him about twenty minutes before he came to a part where he recognized the surroundings. It mostly took that long since he had had to stop every few seconds to take a deep breath and barrel through the pain. Once he found a familiar path, it wasn’t long before he heard people calling his name, loudly. 

Eyes wide, cursing the stupidity of his friends, he rushed forward, practically running headfirst into Leon, who steadied him with wide eyes. When he recognized Merlin, relief came over his face, as he called out to the others, “I found him!”

Soon Merlin was surrounded by some of his friends, Gwaine pushing them aside, looking like he wanted to hug him, but holding back. He smiled weakly at the man, wincing as he shifted on his bad ankle. Gwaine’s eyes sharpened at the sight, eyes shrewd as he looked at the ankle, which was a touch swollen. 

“What happened?” He growled, eyes dark. He didn’t seem mad at him, but Merlin didn’t like it. He sighed, shaking his head. They all were soaked, Leon, Gwaine, Lance, and Owain, the four who’d been sent to look for him, he guessed. That reminded him of why they had to _go_.

“I fell. It’s fine, though. We have to get going. Uther knows where we are.”

With that, Merlin turned and stumbled back to the house, which was about a five-minute walk away. Under normal conditions. He feared it would take longer, with his ankle, but he’d go as fast as he could. They needed to go. Now. 

The others followed him, eyes wide. 

“How do you figure that?” Owain questioned, voice tight and a little afraid. He was younger than Merlin, but not by much. Maybe a year. Merlin shrugged, jaw clenched against the pain. 

“The Dragon told me,” was all he said. The others looked like that didn’t clear anything up but said nothing as he kept his bruising pace. 

It took them seven minutes to get back, Merlin having to pause a couple times despite himself, but once he saw the house, he rushed forward and entered it, gasping at the residual pain. He should have been resting, the healing spell only working if one rested after using it, but he didn’t have that luxury. He passed Daffodil on his way in, silently regretful for his rain as he saw the miserable old girl, shaking her head to get the remaining water off. He’d give her a carrot later. When he found one. 

The men around the room, who were talking quietly and tensely, looked up at his intrusion, eyes wide and bodies tense as they saw him. He sighed, again. Great. He could see Arthur, standing, eyes wide with a bruise and cut on his cheek (that Gwen was trying to bandage, without much luck, Arthur too prattish to sit still), but he didn’t pay him any mind. He remembered what the Dragon had told him, but he was still a bit bitter about Arthur’s earlier words. He didn’t want to argue. Not then. 

“We’ve got to get going. Uther knows where we are, and we need to go. Now,” he claimed, loud and clear. Everyone in the room immediately started cursing, standing, before immediately getting their things prepared. They hadn’t spread out too much, but they had settled somewhat, over the weeks. Elyan was looking at him with wide eyes, even as he packed up the blacksmithing tools Merlin had fixed. 

“How? How did he find out?” Elyan demanded, shaking his head. Merlin grimaced, flushing with embarrassment. 

“I may have made it rain earlier,” he muttered, flushing brighter when all eyes fell on him. It was Leon who spoke, voice awed. 

“That was you?”

Merlin shrugged, helpless. It’s not like they didn’t know he could conjure rain. He’d done it before. His magic was so instinctive sometimes that the earth responded to his emotions. 

“I hadn’t meant to,” he defended, crossing his arms. Which was a mistake, as it meant he wasn’t leaning on his staff, making his ankle hurt he winced, hissing at the pain. Gwen darted forward, kneeling before him to look at his ankle. He tried to protest, to say he was okay, but she just glared at him. So, he allowed it, grumbling softly. 

“What happened?”

“I fell. It broke, but I healed it. It will just hurt for a while. We don’t have time to let it rest, though. We’ve got to go. Who knows how long it will take for Uther to find us?”

Pellinore hummed, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Why? Maybe he didn’t notice.”

Yeah. And maybe he was a fairy princess. He snorted and shook his head. 

“He did. The Dragon told me. He also told me, in a roundabout way, that we should head to Camelot. That we’ll find the information we seek there.”

He tried to keep his tone even, not smug, but he was sure some of it crept in. Well, whatever. He’d been right! 

“Don’t,” he heard a voice call. Merlin tensed, Gwen looking up at him warily from where she was now binding his ankle with bandages, but he relaxed when he realized the voice didn’t sound angry. Just resigned. He didn’t look at the person who had spoken, though. He knew who it was. He didn’t want to look at him. 

“Merlin, please,” the voice pleaded, sounding so forlorn that Merlin couldn’t help it. His eyes darted up, meeting deep blue ones, full of so much sorrow and heartache he ached with it. Oh, God. He’d done that. He’d caused that pain in those beautiful eyes. Christ. “I know I shouldn’t have said that to you. I didn’t mean it. I _don’t_ mean it. You are so fucking brave Merlin, you have no idea. I was just scared. You know what he’ll do to you if you get caught. I can’t bear the thought, Merlin. I can’t.”

Merlin gasped at the way Arthur’s voice broke at the end, the man looking at the ground as he inhaled sharply, fists clenched tight. Merlin ached inside at the look, wanting to go over to the man and embrace him tightly, even though he was still so hurt inside, but he couldn’t. Gwen was still binding his ankle. 

“I know what he’ll do,” Merlin intoned, voice low and intimate. He swallowed the lump that had formed and kept going. “He’ll kill me. I know it, Arthur. I spoke to Kilgharrah and he said as much. The ‘cure’ would only ever kill a magic user. A person cannot be divorced from their magic or else they will perish, slowly. Me more than a normal sorcerer, as connected as I am to my magic. I know what fate awaits me if I get caught. But Arthur…”

Merlin paused, looking his betrothed in the eye. Gwen had finished binding his ankle, so he strode forward, carefully, and stopped before the man, eyes intent. Arthur looked wrecked, his hair disheveled and his face turned a dark purple and red. He had half dried blood that was dripping down a cut on his cheek, likely caused by the ring that Gwaine wore on his right hand. It made Merlin ache, so he lifted a careful hand and touched the bruise. He whispered a spell and watched as the bruise lightened in color, the cut scabbing over. It didn’t fade entirely, but he hoped it was less painful. When Arthur sighed, lifting a hand to cradle the one Merlin had pressed to his cheek, Merlin continued. 

“I can’t let him kill my people,” he insisted, voice so low only Arthur could hear him. The others in the room were busy doing their own things, not looking at them, giving them privacy. Arthur clenched his hand, but said nothing, breath ragged as he listened. Merlin gently caressed Arthur’s face, his other hand on the man’s shoulder so he could balance better. “I know what might happen to me. But I can’t let him keep doing this. Kilgharrah told me what will happen if we don’t stop him. Magic will die. If magic dies, the world dies, Arthur. We’re all interconnected. I can’t let that happen. I know the risks. I know the danger. But I can’t do nothing. These are my people. My kingdom. I can’t let it fall because of the mistakes of our respective fathers. I won’t make you do anything. You are your own man. But I am going to Camelot. I will find out more about this cup. You can’t change my mind about this. I’m sorry, Arthur. I really am.”

He was whispering by the end, his forehead pressed tight to Arthur’s as the man pulled him close. He could taste Arthur on his lips as the man breathed, his eyes closed, a few tears falling. Merlin wiped them away, as tenderly as he could. Arthur shook his head, opening his crystalline eyes, looking so sad it made him ache. 

“I can’t lose you, Merlin. I can’t,” the man repeated, before kissing him softly. Merlin kissed back, the embrace impossibly tender and soft. It was like his heart was imploding with the pressure. 

“You won’t,” he promised, lying. Arthur laughed, shaking his head ruefully as he pulled back, looking at him with such intense sorrow. But also, resignation. Like he’d come to terms with it. It was what Merlin had wanted, but he felt strangely sorrowful at the sight. 

“You can’t promise me that. No one can. We’re going to war, Merlin. You can’t promise anything,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head again. “But I won’t stop you. I could, I know, but I won’t abuse our bond like that. I shouldn’t have tried, earlier. But I’m coming with. You do not get to go without me, you prat. Where you go, I go. It’s decided. You do not split up from me, alright? You stay by my side the entire time. And if I say we need to go… please, Merlin. For the love of god. Listen to me.” 

Merlin couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt inside. Like sorrow mixed with anger mixed with indignation mixed with such intense _love_ that he was left staggering. All he could do was nod, dumbly, his throat strangely thick. Arthur looked him in the eye for a second, before nodding back. He took a step back, steadying Merlin and giving him time to put his weight on his staff, before pulling back entirely and heading for their bedrolls. The others had taken the time to clear their things, the house almost completely clear by then. Only Arthur and Merlin’s things remained. It made him ache, to see how two weeks of their lives could be cleared away so quickly. 

He tried to help Arthur clean, but was beaten back by annoyed hands, Arthur giving him a glare. Ah. So, he wasn’t entirely forgiven then. He supposed it was fair. He hadn’t entirely forgiven Arthur, either. 

It was their first real fight, he realized, watching Arthur pick up the last of their things. They’d fought before, of course, but it was always on little things, like what they wore, or what they thought of something. Petty things. Minor things. Never truly serious, even if they did accidentally manage to hurt the other.

They’d never fought on anything so important before, however. Had never gotten so very, blindingly angry. It was like a milestone, he thought humorlessly. A sign that they truly were ‘together.’ All couples fought. He knew that now that his mind was no longer blinded by his fear and anger. 

He remembered the first time he’d seen Gaius fight with Alice, back before she’d died (which had hurt, so much, at the time. She’d been like a mother to him, his first ten years. When the Manticore had killed her... well. It had devastated him, almost as much as it had devastated Gaius. The man had never quite been the same after, though he never stopped loving Merlin). It had been terrifying at the time, Merlin afraid that Alice would leave and never return. She’d looked so mad. 

Gaius had sighed, though, and had taken Merlin on his lap. He’d been six and a half, at the time, just beginning his training and was still small enough to be cuddled. Gaius had rumbled at him, explaining that just because they fought, didn’t mean they didn’t love one another so very dearly. 

“But she looked so mad...” Merlin had mumbled, snuggling against Gaius’s chest, tears drying on his cheeks. Gaius had sighed again, stroking his hair with careful fingers. He’d been younger, then, his hands not riddled with arthritis yet. 

“Yes, and I am too. But we’ll forgive each other. We have before, and we will again. Because we love each other, Merlin. I’m sure there are times your father angers you, or you anger him. But you don’t stop loving each other, do you? Because love is stronger than anger. Than hatred. Nothing can defeat love, my boy, not if it’s true. She will return, and we will both apologize. Maybe we’ll laugh, at how angry we got over something so stupid. And it is stupid, always stupid, even if it matters so much in the moment. Nothing matters more than her, though. She is my everything. Besides you, my little prince.”

Merlin had giggled, then, Gaius tickling his tummy. He’d sobered quickly, still pouting. 

“How can you know?” He asked. Gaius had looked at him, confused, so he clarified. “If the love is true? If it’s stronger than anger?” 

Gaius had smiled then and kissed his forehead tenderly. 

“Oh, my dearest Merlin. You’ll know. You’ll always know. When you can feel so angry, but more than angry, you feel hurt. Hurt that they won’t trust you. Hurt that they don’t see how much you care. But more than it all, more than the hurt and the anger, you still feel so much love. So much devotion. That’s how you know your love is true. That you would rather them be safe and happy and healthy, even when you, yourself, are hurting so very bad.”

Merlin had gone quiet at the words, head pressed against Gaius’s chest, listening to his heartbeat steadily. His father had already started to pull away from him at that point, with him not understanding why. It had hurt him, so very deeply, but he’d never been able to vocalize the pain. He had tried, then. 

“Does my father still love me?” He’d asked, so quiet he wasn’t sure Gaius had heard him. But the older man did, Gaius cooing softly as he ran warm fingers through his hair. 

“Oh, my dearest child. Yes. I don’t doubt that for a second. I remember when you were born, how happy and proud your father looked. He looks at you that way still. He adores you, Merlin. Never forget that.”

Merlin had smiled, nodding. He grew silent again, before asking another question. 

“Do you think anyone else will ever love me like that? Or that I’ll love someone else?”

“Yes, my boy. You have so much love in your little heart, I do not doubt for even a second that you will find the truest love of them all, one day. And they will love you so fiercely, Merlin. It is impossible not to. You are so good and pure, to not love you would be the greatest sin. Now, we have some training to do, hm? Where’s your book?” 

They’d gone back to work, after that. And not long after, Alice had returned, face soft and sad, looking miserable. Gaius had taken one look at her and had wrapped her in his arms, whispering soft words Merlin couldn’t hear in her ear. She seemed to like them, though, as she laughed, even as a tear fell down her cheek. Gaius had wiped it tenderly away, kissing her forehead with as much love as he could. That moment had always stayed with Merlin. Reminding him what true love looked like. When Alice had died, this look of such utter devastation had filled Gaius’s face, like his entire world had shattered into the tiniest of pieces. The look had never fully left his aging face, even after twelve years. Merlin hadn’t understood, not entirely, what that had meant. Not then. 

He did now, he thought, watching Arthur as he packed, so silent it hurt. He was bleeding pain, and sorrow. Merlin wanted so badly to take it away, to tell Arthur he had changed his mind. That they didn’t have to go to Camelot. But it wasn’t right. He couldn’t betray his people. He owed them so much. 

Instead, he limped forward and wrapped his arms around Arthur, when the man had stood and noticed him. He held tight, Arthur holding tight in return.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, for the things I said. I lied. I do need you. I need you so much it makes me ache. I’m so scared, every second of every day that I’m going to lose you. And I know you fear the same with me. But we have to do this. We can’t think only of ourselves. We have our people to worry about. Both of our peoples. Albion needs us. I wish it weren’t so. But it is. I love you, Arthur. More than words can say. Please, forgive me.”

His words had been soft, pleading. They were the only two in the room, the others all milling around outside, getting ready to leave. Good. They had privacy. 

Arthur shuddered against him, gasping with the pain. He looked so wrecked, still. Merlin wanted to take that pain. He couldn’t, though. He could only hold him and pray that things would work out alright. That their worry was for naught. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Merlin. You were right. I never should have tried to command you to do anything. You are your own person. I can’t force you to think differently. To act differently. You wouldn’t be… _you_ if I could. I love you more than life, Merlin. It hurts so bad. So fucking bad. I’d give up the entire world if I knew it would keep you safe, Albion be damned. But I know we can’t do that. I know that that’s not right. So, I’ll follow you. And I’ll keep you safe. You are my everything. I would follow you to the ends of the earth, my dearest love. I swear.”

Arthur looked so sad… Merlin shook his head, kissing Arthur softly again. They remained like that for long minutes, until the pain was gone, until all that remained was heat and pressure and _love, love, love._

Eventually Merlin had to pull back, Lance calling them from the outside, saying they were ready when they were. Arthur still had a hint of sorrow in his eyes, but more than that, he looked determined. Ready. 

Who knew what the future held? He said that so often these days, but it was true. The future was unclear to him. Even if he could see it, he wouldn’t want to. It would just confuse things. The future was his to make, for all that it was already written. It confused him, how both could exist at once, but he didn’t question it. It didn’t matter. 

As he and Arthur exited the building, Arthur supporting him with a hand around his waist, he felt better. The sun was shining again, reflecting off the sodden earth. The birds were singing, the grass was green... it was decidedly Spring, now, the month of May coming up. It was so beautiful it made him smile. His necklace was prominent around his neck, shining beautifully in the sunlight, claiming him as Arthur’s. It meant so much more, especially now that he knew Arthur’s family crest.

Arthur insisted that Merlin sit on Daffodil while his ankle healed, Merlin protesting. Daffodil was already carrying so much, he’d argued, the old girl carrying their various supplies, like a pack mule. It wasn’t right. Arthur had stared at him with the fondest look of exasperation. 

“That’s what horses do, _Mer_ lin,” he’d claimed, saying Merlin’s name like he usually did. Like he was an utter idiot, but that he was _his_ utter idiot. It shouldn’t make him feel so warm inside, but it did. Arthur rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a soft smile. “They carry things. And you weigh lighter than a feather! If the old broad could carry Gwaine’s fat arse, then she can carry you and the rest of the stuff.”

Gwaine had protested at that, saying that he’d punch Arthur again if he didn’t learn some respect. Arthur had shot back that there was nothing about Gwaine _to_ respect, so it was impossible. The two men had then began bickering, even as Arthur helped Merlin tenderly get on the horse. He kept his left foot out of the stirrup, instead allowing Arthur to guide the mare where to go. He trusted Arthur would respect his wishes. Arthur might not approve, but he had agreed. And he understood, Merlin was sure of it. 

They were headed for Camelot, Merlin thought, his chest only slightly tight. 

For better. 

Or for worse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Camelot's return. 
> 
> Sorry for the angst. Or, not, aha.


	34. Return to Camelot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Neat! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (EDIT: Oh! I forgot! Happy Chanukah everyone! :-D )

Arthur stared up at the gargantuan castle, more terror in his heart than even the first time he’d seen her beauty, nearly two years ago exactly, now. 

It was funny, he felt, body numb as Merlin directed their little ragtag group towards the underground tunnel that he assured them no one in the castle would know about. So much time had passed, and yet some things never changed. 

It had taken them four days to get to the castle from the small forge they had made into their home for two weeks. It had now been three weeks and two days since the siege on Camelot. And now… now they were back. 

Along with Merlin, Gwaine had elected to come, Lance their fourth. They had determined that the less people, the better. Gwaine and Lance were the best of their sword fighters, not to mention other kinds of fighting, so if it came to a brawl, they’d be their best bets. Plus, as Gwaine had said with a manic grin, just try and stop him. Lance had come to make sure Gwaine didn’t kill them with his recklessness. 

The others were hiding out in the forest, some trying to get intel from the town itself. He believed that Elyan and Gwen were making that run, since they were the only ones who knew, even slightly, what the town layout was like. Gwen had already been in the town earlier, staking the castle out for their mission today, as well. At least then the trip wouldn’t be a complete loss if their endeavor here failed. Or something. 

He was terrified that things would go so very wrong here. He had no idea what to do if things went as bad as he feared. Merlin had promised to stay beside him, but he wasn’t sure if they wouldn’t get separated somehow. 

Maybe he wasn’t as fine as he liked to pretend, he thought faintly, heart pounding as they passed shadow after shadow, his heart clenching each time, afraid it would be a rebel. Or whatever they were called now that they’d won. What did you even call a rebel who’d won? The victor? The establishment? The history books never talked about that. Conquerors, perhaps. He didn’t like that word, though, so he moved on. 

They had spent the past four days discussing their plan. Merlin had been prepared, discussing how they would enter the castle through the tunnels beneath the city. Not the siege tunnels, he’d claimed, but the ones that their waste had once been removed through, before better methods had been discovered. They were poorly maintained, Merlin had explained, as the tunnels he was thinking of using were old and disused. They usually needed a key to open, but Merlin knew a spell that would open them regardless. 

After that, they would disguise themselves as guards. Merlin had considered using a glamour, but Arthur had pointed out that the glamour might get repelled by whatever magic that the cup contained. They didn’t know. They had sent Gwen into the town when they had gotten there, before they had inflated the castle, to see what uniform the guards used. She had described it as best as she could. Merlin had done his best to copy it with his magic. When Gwen had deemed it satisfactory, Merlin had conjured four sets of it, saying it probably wouldn’t be affected by the anti-magic thing, as once an item was conjured it then was no longer of magic, but was simply an object. Or something. Arthur still didn’t understand magic, but he trusted Merlin to know what he was doing, at least.

After they entered the castle, Merlin had instructed them how to get to the library from the tunnels. Arthur had spent enough time in the castle over the past couple years to know roughly what Merlin was taking about. 

They likely would have to split up, Merlin had muttered, holding up a placating hand when Arthur had looked mutinous. He had then gone to explain that he hadn’t meant them, as in him and Arthur, but them as a group. Two guards wandering the castle together was not unusual, but four? That was enough to raise an eyebrow. Gwaine hadn’t seemed to like the idea, but Lance had agreed, eventually causing Gwaine to begrudgingly agree, too. They would split up once they left the tunnels, following two separate paths to the library. It likely would have been best for either him or Merlin to go with Lance or Gwaine, since they both knew the castle while the other two didn’t, but Arthur refused to leave Merlin’s side, so they’d have to make do. Merlin did conjure a map of the castle from memory, though, so there was that. 

If Gwaine and Lance got to the library first, they would act as guard, casing out if there were any guards stationed there or not. They would take any guards out, if there weren’t many, or else wait for Arthur and Merlin to arrive. It would be vice versa if they arrived first. 

Once at the library, Merlin would unlock it, they would all enter, then he’d lock it immediately, to prevent anyone else from entry. Then they’d search through the miles upon miles of books, searching for one that might, and he stressed _might_ , have some usefulness. 

If there was a problem, Merlin had said, intent, then he would teleport them out. If Gwaine and Lance got in trouble while they were separated, they were supposed to snap this magic doohickey that would alert Merlin of their exact location and would inform him that they needed help. He put a strong tracking spell on them, too, so they would know their exact location at all times, and if they lingered too long in any one place that they weren’t supposed to, or drifted off course too much, they would go and help. They wouldn’t enter the library without the pair, Merlin had sworn, solemn. 

It was a simple plan, Arthur thought, almost bitter as he slogged through inches of rotten waste. So very simple. 

It didn’t account for the shit they were currently wading through, though. 

“Eugh,” Gwaine complained, scrunching his nose at the dead rat carcass they passed, the thing half eaten and fully rotten. Arthur shared his sentiment, gagging lightly. “Are they going to notice that we smell, I don’t know… like absolute shit? I don’t know about you, but I don’t think guards typically smell like death warmed over.” 

Merlin grimaced, wrinkling his nose in disgust. 

“I might be able to do a spell,” he muttered, wincing as he stepped in something that sounded wet. And squishy. This was his idea, Arthur thought mercilessly. Let him face the consequences. 

“Hopefully, it’s a spell that magics off my nose,” Lance muttered, doing better than the others at keeping composed, but not by much. Gwaine nodded fervently at the words, gagging again as some rot landed on his head. 

They weren’t currently wearing their guard uniforms, Merlin figuring, correctly, that they would get ruined in the sewage. They all were currently wearing outfits that they wouldn’t mind burning after this was over with. Arthur was firmly planning on setting his entire outfit on fire and never thinking about it again. Their uniforms were in a bag that Merlin was carrying, held high above the sludge. 

It took them a while, about five minutes, but they eventually reached the end of the tunnel, Arthur sighing in relief at the sight. Arthur tightened his grip on his sword and strode forward, right behind Merlin, who was in the lead. 

Merlin took a quick look around the end of the tunnel, making sure no one was around, and quickly motioned for the others to follow close behind him. He shuffled them all into a little room at the end of the hall, which he had was an ancient supply closet that almost no one used, outside of some amorous servants. Gwaine had grinned his wolf’s grin and asked Merlin how he knew that. Merlin had just blushed bright red and told him to kindly shut his hole. 

Luckily, the closet was empty of all inhabitants, amorous servants or not, so they were able to shuffle in without being spotted. Merlin muttered a soft charm, locking the door behind them. 

Safe, relatively speaking, inside the castle, the man let out a breath, looking shaky. Arthur frowned, moving forward and gently touching Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin jolted, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“You okay? We can still turn back now if you want,” he muttered, lowly. Merlin swallowed, but shook his head, smiling weakly. 

“I’ll be fine. I’ll just use one of my cheering spells and be fine.”

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. 

“Okay. Be careful, darling. Don’t overexert yourself. Remember, you need enough strength to possibly teleport four grown adults through the anti-teleportation spells. You can’t use too much power now.” 

It was Merlin’s turn to sigh and shake his head, though he accompanied those actions with a roll of his eyes. Rude. 

“Yeah, I know. I won’t use too much, though. I promise. Just enough to make us stink less, and to make my stupid head less panicked. I know my limits. I promise.”

Arthur let it go, though he still didn’t like it. Being here, in the castle, knowing they were minutes from being detected and killed… it scared him. So goddamn much. But he trusted Merlin. If he said he could handle it, well, by god he could handle it. Hopefully. Maybe. 

It didn’t take Merlin long to mutter a spell that made them smell like roses, after they’d stripped to their underthings. It was a bit overwhelming, and you could still smell the rot underneath, but it would work in a pinch. It just smelled like they’d bathed in bad perfume instead of a bath, which a lot of peasants with some expendable money did, like guards. Too poor to afford even a weekly bath, but rich enough to afford cheap perfume. 

They quickly got dressed after that, Arthur firmly keeping his eyes to himself. He’d seen Merlin, yes, and had even seen glimpses of Gwaine and Lance over the years. Gwaine more so, as the man seemed allergic to shirts in the warmer months. Still, it hadn’t been since before he’d realized his attraction to men that he’d seen the latter two near naked, so it was a bit startling. Yes, he loved Merlin, blah, blah, blah, but he meant… come _on_. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to suffer too long, even Gwaine so tense he didn’t make a snide comment. The uniforms likely weren’t perfect, as Gwen was forced to work with only a shaky memory of the guards she saw, but they were hopefully close enough. The rebels (whatever) were so newly instigated in the castle that he doubted their uniforms were all identical anyway. 

As they finished dressing, Arthur’s heart began to pound extremely loudly. He hated it. He hated showing weakness in general. He clutched his sword like it was a lifeline, and maybe it was. He felt bad for Merlin, though. He’d had to leave his staff behind, a thing that the man had been strangely reluctant to do. He’d only had the staff for a couple weeks, but he’d grown accustomed to it, Arthur knew. Part of him was pleased that the man liked the staff so much, as it had been once meant as a gift. He shook off that part of him, though, as it was not helpful for the task at hand. 

“Alright. You two remember the path I told you to take?” Merlin questioned, awkwardly sheathing his sword with a grimace. He’d gotten better with the blade, Arthur would admit, but he wasn’t anywhere near proficient, even. He knew the basics, and that was about it. Arthur doubted that even if they taught the man for the next decade that he’d ever get truly good with a blade. He simply wasn’t built for it, like Arthur and their friends were. He was slighter, nimbler. Not built for feats of might or strength. He was built for subtler arts, like magic and the occult. Despite that, Merlin was okay. Good enough to defend himself and flee if he had to. Arthur had focused almost solely on defense techniques with Merlin. If he could parry long enough to either escape, or get help? That was good enough. 

Lance nodded tightly, clutching the map they’d been given tightly. They had all debated if they should be given the map to use in the castle, in case it was seen, but ultimately decided that knowing where they were was a better idea. Less chance for getting lost, which Arthur knew for a fact was a real challenge. He knew the castle well enough now that it wasn’t even a problem, but it had been one for the first month or so, until he’d memorized almost every inch of the castle. 

“We should be fine. We’ll meet you guys in half an hour, give or take. We’ll take out any guards that might be guarding the library should we get there first,” Lance said, smiling slightly to try and lighten the mood, which was pitch black. Even Gwaine was quiet, which meant that something was earth shatteringly wrong. 

Merlin took a deep breath and smiled weakly back. He then adjusted his clothes, pulling his collar up to hide his jawline, mused his hair, and walked to the door. Arthur did the same thing. Lance and Gwaine wouldn’t have to worry so much about hiding their identities, since no one here would ever have seen them, and even if they did, they would have no reason to connect them to Merlin and Arthur, as they were entirely non-magical. Even if they got caught, they might be able to talk their way out of it. 

Before they knew it (before they were ready, Arthur privately felt, stomach clenched so hard he felt like he would vomit), Merlin opened the door and out they went. Like ants. Marching to their death. When Gwaine and Lance went one way, while he and Merlin went the other, it felt like he was about to vomit.

Arthur couldn’t help how his chest ached as he and Merlin marched down the hall, faces stony, like guards should be. They could only hope they passed no one who would recognize them. The guards didn’t have any face coverings, for obvious reasons, so it was hard to cover their faces. As long as no one who knew them looked too closely, they might be able to pull it off. Arthur had even soaked his hair in dark leaves the night before, making the usual bright, golden blonde a dull and dusty brown, but other than that they both looked exactly the same. It was risky. Almost too risky. 

The first time that they passed a guard, Arthur was sure that they were going to be caught. Arthur had squared his jaw and hid his terror, but he was certain that the guard would call them out and they’d be screwed. 

Luckily, that didn’t happen. They managed to walk by the guard without being detected at all. Arthur had almost wanted to laugh with his relief, but knew that would be stupid, so he didn’t. 

He could feel how tense Merlin was, next to him. His cheering charms, as he called them, only did so much for him. It kept him from panicking, but it didn’t work on everything, he guessed. He wished he could have one, right about now. But he refused to deplete Merlin’s magic more than they needed. 

Their march through the castle seemed to last an eternity. Every time they turned a corner, every guard they passed, every noise they heard… it was like a dagger was being stabbed repeatedly into his chest. No one bothered them, though. That was good. That was good. That was-

“You two, there! Halt!”

Bad. Bad, bad, bad. This was so very, fucking _bad_. 

Oh God. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Arthur’s hands tightened into fists as he shot a desperate look at Merlin. Merlin had wide eyes but shook his head. Well, what the fuck was that supposed to mean?! Merlin then composed his face and turned, looking at the man who spoke. Arthur, taking a subtle deep breath, did the same. 

The man who was coming up to them was a larger fellow. He seemed almost twice the size of Arthur, though he knew that wasn’t possible. Still, he felt minuscule compared to the man. 

“What are you two doing?” The man growled, eyes sharp on the pair. Arthur was certain he’d never seen the man before, but he couldn’t help how his heart pounded, terrified the man would recognize them. They did have a plan in case they were spotted and questioned. 

“We’re patrolling, sir, on order of the king,” Arthur intoned, keeping his voice carefully neutral. He had no idea how the new order of guards went, now that his father was king (as the man had declared himself a couple weeks back), but he hoped it wasn’t too different to what he’d seen of the guards when Balinor was king. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? 

The guard didn’t seem too suspicious, though, nodding like he agreed. He took out a piece of paper and handed it to him, making Arthur’s heart beat fast. He didn’t open it, just looked at the guard with distant eyes. Like he’d seen the guards do before. Merlin was a tense line next to him, but he said nothing. Good. 

“Alright. Nothing too important, then. This will get your excited, though. Important business, on order of the king. Deliver that to the physician’s quarters, alright? Be prompt! The king wants the physician’s opinion quickly. Don’t delay.”

With that, the guard marched away, back where he came. Arthur felt his heart beat fast, his eyes wide as he looked at the note. He looked over at Merlin, who was looking back, similarly wide eyed. 

“You don’t think-“ he blurted, at the same time Merlin breathed, “Gaius.”

They had a task to do. They were here for a reason. Gwaine and Lance would be waiting for them, Arthur knew this. 

But…

But… they still had twenty minutes until they were supposed to meet the other two. The physician’s quarters weren’t too far from the library. If they could go, see Gaius (if Gaius were still the physician, but of course he was, he had to be), maybe… maybe they could get him out, too? Save him? Get advice, something? 

In the end, they didn’t even have to discuss it. Without a single extra thought, they changed their course slightly, heading quickly to the physician’s quarters. 

No one stopped them as they walked. They probably looked like they were on official business, not meant to be stopped. Good. Technically, they were. Arthur decided that, once he and Merlin were king (and didn’t that thought make his heart pound?) that they would be careful to inform their guard to not hand out assignments, especially important seeming ones, to people they’d never seen before. It was kind of stupid, but hey. He’d take it. 

It took them ten minutes to arrive at Gaius’s rooms. Arthur felt his heart ache at the familiar sight, his home for nearly two years. 

There were guards _everywhere_. Like flies infesting an old piece of cake. Arthur felt his heart speed up, wondering if this was the brightest idea. It was too late, now, to back down, as they had been seen. One of the guards was walking up, scowling at them. 

“State your business!” The man barked, eyes dark and scowl firm. Merlin tensed, but Arthur just held up the letter, eyes blank. 

“We’ve been given orders to deliver this letter to the physician, sir,” he monotoned, as relaxed as he could. When the guard took it, he stared blankly ahead. 

“Alright. You’re dismissed,” the guard claimed, dismissive. Arthur felt his stomach clench. Wait, no…

“We were told to give it directly to the physician, sir. And to then get a message back to the king. Prompt,” Merlin claimed, voice wavering only slightly. He was stiff backed and had his chin held high. He looked almost brave. Arthur was sure he was the only one who could see the slight tremor in the man’s body. 

The guard narrowed his eyes at him, looking suspicious. Arthur piped in, to cover them. 

“It’s urgent, sir. We don’t know why, but it’s what we were told.”

The guard kept looking at them, but eventually nodded, handing back the letter. Arthur wanted to let out a sigh of relief, but they’d weren’t out of the woods yet. 

“Fine. Better than having to send one of my men out, I suppose. Be prompt, alright? The physician has been testy with us. You’ve drunk the king’s potion, yeah?”

Arthur nodded his head, as did Merlin. Potion? He didn’t have time to ponder too much, as the guard waved them on, the guards by the door stepping aside as he brandished a key for the lock on the door. Hm. That was new. 

He didn’t have time to think on that, either, before he and Merlin were being waved in, the door slamming behind them with a click. 

Arthur’s chest expanded with pain and nostalgia as he looked around the familiar quarters. Oh. It was like nothing had changed, wasn’t it? His eyes roved greedily over the familiar shelves and books. It was like coming home. 

“What do you want? I’ve told you, I have nothing to tell the king,” a voice informed them, bitingly. Arthur couldn’t help the gasp he felt rise in his chest as his eyes fell on the one man that he’d missed most of all in the castle. 

Gaius was sitting by the fire, eyes turned away from them, face stony as he glared at the embers. He had chains on his wrists, which made Arthur feel blindingly angry. How dare they? How dare they chain up Gaius? Those bastards! He wanted to say something, but he was strangely tongue tied, his throat so tight he was having trouble breathing. 

“What about the prince?” He heard Merlin rasp, voice tight and taut with relief and suppressed rage. He was likely just as angry at the sight as Arthur was. 

It was almost comical, in a way, how Gaius jolted, eyes wide as he shot up and turned to face the two. Arthur couldn’t help the grin when Gaius saw them, tears rising in the aged eyes. The older man was chained to the fireplace, unable to move too far from it, but he came as close as he could, Arthur and Merlin meeting him the rest of the way. 

Gaius wrapped his arms around both Merlin and Arthur, tears filling his aged blue eyes. 

“Oh,” he gasped, wetly. “My boys.” 

Arthur wrapped his arm around Gaius as well, his other around Merlin so they could share a, only kind of awkward, three-way hug. The trio stayed like that for a few seconds before Gaius pulled back and slapped them both upside the head. 

“You idiots! What are you doing here?! The castle is no place for you both to be! I hope you didn’t come here to rescue me,” he chided, looking at them with the Dreaded Eyebrow of Doom raised. Arthur had never been gladder to see it. 

“No!” Merlin cried, before wincing, and lowing his voice. “I mean, of course we’re going to rescue you, we’re not leaving you here. But that’s not why we came. We have a lead, Gaius. On what the artifact Uther is using is. The Great Dragon informed me, in a roundabout way, that coming to Camelot and looking in the library would give us the information we need. It’s a cup, Gaius. Like the Cup of Life, we think, that grants whoever drinks from it immunity to any and all magic. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Merlin was staring at Gaius with bated breath, eyes wide and beguiling. Gaius was frowning, his hand rubbing his chin as he thought. After a second, he shook his head, sadly. 

“No, my boy. I’m afraid I’ve never heard of such a thing. Are you certain it’s a cup?”

Arthur tried not to show the crestfallen expression that he was sure was rising on his face. Merlin was less successful, his body sagging with disappointment. He straightened a second later, though, with determined eyes. 

“Yes. Kilgharrah wouldn’t tell me outright, but he said that I already knew when I asked. He’s a cryptic bastard, not wanting to get involved as he’s ‘learned his lesson’ from interfering with the future. But he wouldn’t have said that if we were wrong. We realized it when Arthur told us how Morgana had tried to get him to drink from her water skin, claiming it was wine, but he noticed it smelled less like wine and more like metallic water. Like water poured from a goblet.”

Gaius was nodding slowly, eyes alight. 

“Yes… yes, that does make sense. Very clever of you, my boy, to make the connection!”

Merlin flushed, before grimacing. 

“Unfortunately, I can’t take credit, Gaius. Gwen noticed it. You remember Gwen, yeah?”

“Ah, the lovely young girl who Arthur is friends with? Yes, I recall. Well, she did always strike me as quite bright. You’re lucky to have such an intelligent companion.”

Arthur was about to open his mouth to speak when a loud knock sounded on the door. 

“Hurry up in there!” The guard from earlier shouted, though he didn’t open the door. Gaius grimaced, shaking his head. 

“Well, that all explains why you are in Camelot, but why, on earth, are you two here? This was highly risky!”

Merlin scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Once we learned you were alright, we weren’t going to leave you! Now come on, let’s work on getting you free. Getting you out of the magic suppressing cuffs will be a challenge, but I love a good challenge! Now, hold still-“

“Merlin, no.”

Arthur stared at Gaius with incredulous eyes as the older man stepped back. The physician grabbed the letter Arthur was still holding, reading it quickly. The man sighed, then headed to his table where an ink pot and a quill laid. 

“You cannot be serious. Gaius! We’re not leaving you here with Uther! He hates magic! And if you drink from his goblet, or water from the goblet, you will die. I won’t let you die, Gaius. I can’t.”

Arthur hated how Merlin’s voice broke, the man rounding the table and looking Gaius in the eyes. Gaius looked back, eyes sad. 

“Don’t worry about me, Merlin. Uther and I are old friends. He owes me a life’s debt, for saving both him and his family. He won’t harm me. If there is even a hint that his ‘cure’ would kill me, I don’t think Uther would give it. He had always been a man of honor. I doubt he’s changed that much over the years that he’s lost that quality.”

“Gaius, he’s planning to kill thousands of innocent people,” Merlin intoned, eyes hard. Gaius sighed and shook his head, still writing on his paper. 

“He doesn’t want to kill them, per se. He does want to try and cure them, I am sure of that. But you are right. He would not shy away from execution if that was the only option. Uther has always been distrustful of magic, though he and Ygraine used it to conceive you, Arthur,” Gaius claimed, making Arthur’s eyes go wide. What? That was news to him. “Balinor helped make it so. I believe he was hoping that if your mother didn’t die from childbirth, like he’d assumed from his visions, then Uther wouldn’t hate magic so. But he feared it didn’t work well enough. It was his last effort before taking the crown, himself.”

“Wait. My _father_ helped Arthur to be born?” Merlin asked, incredulity in his voice. Gaius sighed, but nodded. 

“It was one of his many attempts to alter the future he saw. I’m sorry to tell you this way, but we’ve not much time. Arthur, under no circumstances, can you drink this ‘cure,’ if it is as you say. Not only are you bound to Merlin through magic, but you were born of magic. Magic flows through your veins. I fear that if magic is expelled from you, then you will surely die, as the magic that brought about your birth would be reversed. Take care to not let this happen, my boys.”

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, his mind reeling. What? How? When? Why? 

Before he could, though, the door began to unlock, forcing Arthur and Merlin back, bodies stiff and eyes distant as the guard from earlier entered, scowl on his face. 

“What is taking you so long, old man?” The guard scowled, stomping into the room. Gaius frowned in return, giving the guard a disapproving look. 

“It takes time to formulate an intelligible response, my dear fellow. Give me a second,” Gaius insisted, still hurriedly writing his response. A few seconds later he was finished, signing it with a flourish. “There. I am finished. Bring this to the king. It is for his eyes only.”

Gaius said the words while looking directly at Merlin, handing him the letter. Merlin nodded, tense. The guard narrowed his eyes at them but didn’t seem suspicious. Idiot.

Together, Arthur and Merlin exited the room, the guard taunting Gaius as they left. Arthur hated it, his fists clenching, but he walked with Merlin woodenly to an alcove nearby, the man muttering a silencing charm to give them privacy. Hopefully, it worked against the magic ‘cure,’ but who knew? It was more a precaution than anything. 

“We have to get him out of here,” Merlin breathed, eyes tight and scared. Arthur, privately, agreed. But…

“It’s too risky,” Arthur claimed, voice shaking. It was. Gaius’s chambers were surrounded by guards. He was wearing magic canceling shackles. Yes, they could reverse the spell with enough time, but the power needed to do that… it wouldn’t work. He knew it wouldn’t. “Gaius will be alright. He has to be. We need to do what we came here for. I don’t like it any more than you do, but if we’re caught, we can’t help anyone. Merlin, please-“

“It’s Gaius, Arthur! We have… fuck, we have to save him! We can’t leave him here like this! I… I can’t lose him. Please.”

Arthur hated the tears that gathered in Merlin’s eyes, the soft sobs that were filling his chest. Oh, God. If he could take that pain away…

“I know, Merlin. I know,” he muttered, moving forward to hold his beloved tight to him. Merlin resisted at first, but eventually melted into his arms, sobbing softly. “If we could… but it’s too dangerous. We barely got in here this time. We have to meet up with Gwaine and Lance, or else they might get hurt trying to be valiant and rescue our stupid arses. We have to finish our task. If we want to rescue Gaius, we’d have to come back, with a plan. And I don’t think we’d be able to do this a second time. This is more important, Merlin. Stopping my father is of the most import. Gaius said that my father won’t harm him. He didn’t seem to be lying or trying to placate us. Plus, he was locked in his room, not in the dungeon. That means something, yeah?” 

Merlin was breathing hard, his hand clutching the letter Gaius gave him tight. It was for him, Arthur knew. Gaius only would have called one man the king. Well. Two men, really. Neither were his father. 

A few moments passed, before nodding stiffly. 

“Fine. Fine, alright. I hate it. Leaving him… god. I don’t even know if Freya is okay. I didn’t… I didn’t get a chance to ask. Fuck,” Merlin gasped, tears leaking from his eyes. Arthur leaned down and kissed his cheek tenderly, kissing away the tears. It was sappy, but Merlin seemed to like it, gasping as he tilted his face and met Arthur’s lips with his own, the two sharing a tender kiss. 

The ended it a second later, Merlin taking a deep breath as he pulled back, wiping his eyes fully clear. They were still a touch red, but Merlin had set his jaw, looking determined. 

“Okay. Alright. W-we need to go. I think half an hour has already passed. I don’t know. Let’s get to the library before those idiots do something stupid.”

With that, Merlin took down the silencing charm and exited into the hallway, after making sure no one was around. Arthur followed close behind, head held high. 

It turned out that acting like you belonged could fool anyone. They passed several guards and not one of them looked at them twice. Honestly. It was kind of pathetic how easy it was. 

As they rounded the corner to the library, they saw no guards blocking their path. Either his father didn’t bother to guard the library, or they’d been beaten here. 

That question was answered when he saw Gwaine glare at him from in front of the library door, eyes hard as he scowled at them. Lance was right beside him, looking more relieved than anything. 

“See? I told you they were fine,” Lance muttered, causing Gwaine to grunt in discontent.

“What took you two so bloody long?” Gwaine grumbled, even as Merlin got to work on unlocking the door. Arthur shrugged, eyes darting around at the hallway. It currently was clear, but if anyone saw them...

“We got caught by a guard. He wasn’t suspicious, though, just told us to take a letter to Gaius, the court physician,” Arthur explained, voice low. Gwaine had a look of comprehension in his eyes, recalling the name from the letters Arthur had sent. Maybe even from what Merlin had told him. Lance, on the other hand, looked worried. 

“Was it alright? Did he suspect anything?”

Arthur shook his head, quickly. 

“I don’t think so. Gaius is a friend, like a father to me. And Merlin. We told him about the cup, but he’s not heard of such a thing. He told us to go, though. So, we’re here.”

“We should be rescuing him,” Merlin grumbled, even as he got the library unlocked. They all shuffled in quickly, before Merlin reversed his spell, the door locking tight. Arthur didn’t get a chance to retort, when Merlin continued, sighing. “Though I know why we can’t. Now, come on. We won’t have long before they notice something amiss. While I doubt that they’d be able to get the door open, we shouldn’t linger too long.” 

With that, Merlin strode off, looking at the shelves upon shelves of books with mild trepidation. Arthur understood. The library was daunting, dust and cobwebs everywhere. It was like a labyrinth. And Geoffrey wasn’t there to help them. 

It felt like hours passed as they searched, separated out amongst the shelves, though it likely wasn’t longer than twenty minutes. Eventually, Arthur wandered over to Merlin, who was scowling. 

“Any luck?” He muttered, knowing what the answer would be. The man shook his head in reply, like Arthur thought. 

“No. Fuck! This is impossible,” he bemoaned, hitting his head against the stone column. Arthur hummed sympathetically, reaching out and preventing his betrothed from causing himself any brain damage. 

“Stop, Merlin. Stop,” he said. Merlin listened, though the man glared at him slightly. Oh, he was sorry, using their bond to prevent his beloved from getting brain damage was a bad thing now, was it? Rolling his eyes, he moved on. “Did you read Gaius’s letter?”

Merlin’s eyes lit up at that, nodding quickly. 

“Yes. He recommended I look in the mythology section, since he doubted any information would be in the enchanted objects sections, as they had been scoured by sorcerers after f-father heard about the artifact,” Merlin explained, stumbling slightly over his words, eyes pained as he recalled his father. He continued, though, before Arthur could offer any comfort. “I’ve looked but have found nothing so far. He did tell me that Freya was alright. She’s been kept locked in her room, like he has. He’s been ordered to keep making her her potions, so she’s being cared for, at least. He hasn’t seen Morgana or your father since he was locked in his room, but he’s been getting letters each day, informing him of what is expected of him, asking him questions on various things. Gaius doesn’t usually reply, but he sometimes would, he mentioned. Good thing, or the guard would have been suspicious.”

Arthur nodded, feeling relief flood him at the news that Freya was alright. He’d never been super close to the girl, but he liked her a lot. She was very kind and caring. Plus, he knew it would have killed Merlin if anything happened to her. 

He had no time to reply when they heard a loud noise at the door, like a battering ram. Merlin looked up, eyes wide. 

“Shit,” he muttered, eloquently. 

Gwaine and Lance ran up to them a second later, eyes equally wide. 

“What do we do?” Lance hissed, looking around. “We’ve not found anything.” 

Gwaine nodded, lips tight and eyes worried. Merlin let out a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair. 

“Us, neither. We have to keep looking. We can’t have come all this way for nothing. They won’t break down the door that easily. It’s not locked as tight as before, but it’s still locked fairly tight. Let’s keep looking. Ignore them.”

Lance and Gwaine nodded, rushing off to look anew. Arthur was frozen, though, his heart pounding at he looked at the door, which was currently being barraged. It just… Christ, it reminded him of that night. The siege. The scent of smoke filled his nose and he wasn’t sure if it was real or not. When Merlin began coughing, eyes wide, he realized it was real. 

“They’re trying to smoke us out,” he muttered, covering his nose and mouth. Merlin nodded, eyes wide. He was breathing raggedly, shaking like a leaf. Shit. 

“Merlin. Merlin, look at me. We can do this. The door will hold. We need to find the book. Shit. Merlin, please,” he pleaded, not having time for this. He hated how callow it made him to think, but it was true. They didn’t have time. 

Merlin seemed to snap out of it, somewhat, muttering his cheering charm again. It seemed to work to calm him down, as he nodded. He didn’t run off, though, still biting his lip. 

“We don’t have much time, Arthur. I can’t clear the smoke without using too much magic. We’re going to have to teleport out, it’s the only way now, and it’s going to take all the strength I currently have to teleport all four of us out. But where the hell could the book be?”

Merlin was muttering to himself, eyes distant as he thought, abusing his poor lip. Arthur thought, but his mind was blank. He didn’t know the library that well. He didn’t know the shelves. He was also starting to panic, his thoughts frantic as they slipped from his grasp like the smoke that he was currently inhaling too much of. Fuck. They needed to think. They needed to focus. They needed-

“Of course!” Arthur blurted, eyes widened. Merlin looked back at him, startled, but Arthur didn’t have time to explain. Grinning, he spoke again, his words steady and forceful. “Merlin. I command you to find the book that contains information about the cup that can block any and all magic. That is an order.”

Merlin’s eyes widened at the command, his mouth open as he realized what Arthur was doing. The look faded as determination overcame him, his eyes sharp as he looked at the bookshelves. 

Merlin had told him that their bond couldn’t be used to do the impossible. They could only do what was in their own capabilities. It didn’t give them preternatural abilities, like clairvoyance or knowledge they couldn’t possible have known. But... but, he thought, as he raced after Merlin, the man like he was on a mission, it could give the person a greater sense of duty. Of urgency. Of determination and strength and energy. 

Soon Merlin had reached a section of books, in the mythology section. _Like Gaius had recommended_ , Arthur thought distantly. The shelves were not marked as well as they could be, but Merlin seemed to know what he was looking for, eyes sharp as he looked over the shelves. He took out a couple books, skimmed through them, then put them back. 

A few minutes passed like this, Arthur getting slowly more and more despondent. Well, it’s not like the bond worked wonders. It couldn’t make Merlin do what was out of his natural ability. Arthur was honestly wasting time, standing here and not searching himself. 

Cursing lightly, Arthur was about to turn and start looking himself, the room filled with so much smoke at that point that he could barely breath, when Merlin shouted, his voice loud and ecstatic. 

“I found it!” He cried, his eyes roving the book before him, his mouth mouthing the words he was reading. Arthur could barely breath, for a reason other than the smoke, eyes wide as he looked at his other half. That was a bad idea, as the smoke made them sting, but he couldn’t help it. Had he… fuck, had he really heard that?

He was snapped out of it when Gwaine and Lance came running up, from opposite sides of the library. 

“Really?!” Lance cried, laughing. “That’s brilliant! What does it say?”

He moved forward with the other two, eyes eager to read the words Merlin had found.

“It’s not much,” Merlin warned, turning the book slightly so they could see. On the pages stood a drawing of a chalice, looking slightly plain, outside of the intricate carvings along it. The words on the page were a mystery to him, though. They were not written in English. 

“Uh, Merlin, darling. None of us can read that,” Gwaine remarked, patiently. Merlin blinked, before grimacing and nodding. 

“Right! Right. It’s Latin,” he explained. Huh. Arthur didn’t know Merlin knew Latin. “It explains how there’s a myth about a cup used in Roman mythology, a cup that, when pure water is poured into it, can block even the strongest of magics. It was used, supposedly, during some Greek and Roman quests, centuries ago. It is considered a myth, however. It shouldn’t exist.”

Merlin was about to say more when he was interrupted, the door rattling as it was beaten into by the battering ram. Merlin grimaced, coughing as more smoke filled the air. 

“We need to go,” Arthur said, eyes hard even as they watered. They all were coughing, now, the smoke so thick he could barely see. The others nodded, quick. Merlin paused, though, looking at the book. “Does it say how to counter the cup’s magic? Or, its anti-magic?”

Merlin shrugged, eyes watering smoke. “I don’t know. I’ve not read that far yet.”

He began coughing again, doubling over. Shit. 

“Well, I hate to break it to you, love, but we’re out of time. We need to go. Now,” Gwaine gritted out, his jaw clenched against the smoke. It was nearly black in the room, the heat increasing. He had no idea what the guards were burning to make such a thick smoke, but it was foul. Merlin hesitated, looking at the shelves, before nodding. He handed the book to Arthur, who held it tightly. 

“Don’t drop that,” Merlin warned, before grabbing him and Lance tight. 

“Lance, grab hold of Gwaine!” He cried, voice growing strained with the smoke. Lance grabbed Gwaine, who grabbed hold of Arthur, who grabbed hold of Merlin, until they were in a four-person semi-embrace. Arthur was still holding tight to the book, though, the thing pressed as close to his chest as he could. He remembered how painful teleportation was, how it pulled at everything that he was. He couldn’t let the book fall into the nether. He refused. 

“Hold on tight! This is going to be uncomfortable!” Merlin shouted, before his eyes flashed gold and he muttered the foreign words, the ones he’d said all those weeks ago. 

The warning did nothing for the discomfort of the travel, all breath pulled out of him as he was squeezed through the passage between places, as Merlin called it. He could distantly feel Gwaine pulling away from him, but he pressed tighter to him, his leg wrapped around the bastard’s thigh. Like hell was he letting Gwaine slip away from them. 

Finally, after was felt like ages, they were released from the pressure, the quartet falling to their knees as they breathed fresh air for the first time in minutes, coughing out the smoke. Arthur could feel the hard book cutting into his chest, but he didn’t mind. It was there. They’d got it!

His moment of victory was short lived, as he heard a masculine voice curse, before letting out a keen of pain. 

Eyes wide, his head whipped up, suddenly terrified that Merlin had gotten hurt, somehow, or that he had overexerted himself and was now dying (Arthur didn’t quite understand what it meant for a sorcerer to overextend their magic, but he knew that it could lead to death, so he was terrified). However, it wasn’t Merlin who was groaning. 

“Help! Someone, help!” Lance cried, his hands holding tightly to Gwaine’s side, which was bleeding freely. Holy shit, that was a lot of blood, Arthur thought faintly as he saw the chunk of Gwaine that was missing from his side. How the hell had the man gotten hurt?! 

Arthur was pulled into motion as Gwaine cried in pain again, his forehead sweaty and stained black with the smoke. His eyes were tight with pain as he gasped. Arthur ripped off his shirt in a second and began applying pressure to the wound, trying to stop the blood. Gwaine gasped, making Arthur very concerned, but then he laughed. It was tight and strained, barely a laugh, but it was there. Oh, thank god. If Gwaine could laugh, all hope wasn’t lost. 

“Ah, Arthur. How, how kind of you to strip for little old me. Might, ah. Might be more appreciated at another time, though, eh?” Gwaine ground out, his teeth clenched tight as he tried to grin. Arthur let out a tight laugh, shaking his head as tears filled his eyes despite him. Christ, the wound looked bad. Gwaine was growing paler by the second. 

“You are such an ass,” Arthur gasped, applying more pressure. Gwaine hissed, but kept grinning, even as his eyes began to glaze over and blink closed. Arthur shook him, suddenly afraid. “Hey! Hey! Don’t you dare go to sleep, you bastard! Stay awake!” 

Gwaine grimaced, but nodded, blinking his eyes. 

“How did he even get hurt?” Lance muttered, eyes tight with worry as he stood and waved the rest of their friends over, who had heard the cry for help and were running towards them desperately. 

“Probably being an idiot,” Arthur hissed, though he didn’t mean it. He was just so terrified. He barely even registered Gwaine’s indignant ‘hey!’ when he heard a voice rasp behind him. 

“No. It was me. My fault. I should- fuck. I should have had a tighter grip,” Merlin rasped, eyes wide as he looked at Gwaine. Arthur whipped his head up, heart clenching at the look of grief and fear on Merlin’s face. He looked awful. And guilty. 

“No. N-no, don’t blame yourself, love. I, fuck. Prolly fucked it up. Not your fault,” Gwaine gasped, cursing when Gwen got to his side and began looking over the wound. She wasn’t a physician, not by any means, but she knew some basic first aid. 

Wait. She wasn’t a physician. 

But Arthur was. Kind of. 

“Gwen, do you have any grafts?” Arthur barked, his mind no longer mindless with fear. He looked at the wound, with a critical eye now. He was no expert physician, not like Gaius, but he knew enough about injuries to maybe be of help. Possibly. The wound was full of so much blood that he could barely see it, though. Right. Clear the wound first. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so?” Gwen replied, but he barely heard her. He grabbed the water that Leon had brought over, washing it over the wound carefully. Gwaine was cursing up a storm, but that was good. He needed to stay awake. That meant he was alive. 

“Gwaine, for the love of god, don’t stop talking,” he growled, looking at the wound with critical eyes. It was bad, he noticed, a whole chunk of Gwaine’s side somehow just… missing. It was disgusting, but it didn’t seem to have taken any chunks of his internal organs with it. Thank god. That would have been unfixable, in the state they all were in. He grabbed a cloth that Percival held out and lifted Gwaine as gently as he could, placing it under him to act as a barrier between him and the dirt. The last thing they needed was the wound to get infected from the dirt. He tore away the rest of Gwaine’s shirt, seeing the extent of the damage. He hissed, hating how large the wound was. It seemed mostly superficial, but it was very large, going from just below where his nipple was, to his waist, along the left side of his body. Without a skin graft, it would be hard to get it to stop bleeding. Stitches wouldn’t help when his skin, and maybe part of his muscle, were literally missing. 

“Fuck, Arthur. Never thought I’d live to see the day,” Gwaine gasped, eyes closing with the pain. Arthur yelled at him, saying something about keeping his eyes open, which the man did, though they were bleary with pain. 

“Alright! Alright. Stop... fuck. Stop yelling, you bastard. I hear you.”

Gwaine kept talking then, rambling words that made no sense. Arthur didn’t care. He was carefully sanitizing the wound with the tinctures he had created from the supplies he’d bought at the apothecary in Fayford. Thank Christ he’d thought to make these with Merlin earlier, the man enchanting them as Arthur created them. They wouldn’t be enough to heal the wound, but they would work to sanitize and help close up the wound, a little. They made Gwaine scream, but it was better than him dying of infection.

After about a minute, he felt Merlin crawl over to his side, keening at the sight of the wound. Arthur could hear Merlin try and mumble a healing charm, making his head shoot up as he glared at the man. Merlin was deathly pale, wincing as he tried to get his magic to work. 

“Stop. Merlin, fucking stop. I can’t take care of both Gwaine and you. You’ve used way too much of your power. Gwaine isn’t in life threatening danger. I can handle this for now. Focus on resting and getting your magic back, and you can heal him fully later. Alright?” He hissed, turning his eyes back to Gwaine as soon as he could, hands careful as he poured the tincture over the wound, Gwaine howling in pain. Fuck, he hoped they were far enough from the castle for no one to hear them. They were in the woods, far enough away to not be immediately noticeable, but close enough for Merlin to have teleported them there with relative ease. The book was dropped on the ground nearby, but it looked safe, so Arthur put it out of his mind as he focused on healing his friend. 

It seemed that Merlin had listened to him as he faced no other interruptions as he worked on bandaging Gwaine. 

It took about ten minutes before Arthur felt secure enough to lean back, teeth gritted as he looked over the bandaged wound. Gwaine had passed out halfway through, but it was fine. He hoped. 

He’d lost so much blood, Arthur worried, though he’d gotten it to stop bleeding as much. The bandages were already beginning to soak through with blood, but they hopefully would keep the most of it in.

Arthur was covered in blood, but that didn’t bother him as much as it likely should. He’d had to assist Gaius with some very bloody cases before, sadly, so he was somewhat used to being covered in blood that wasn’t his own. 

Sadly, they couldn’t stay here long. They had always planned that, as soon as they returned, they’d flee again. They had no real idea where, just away. And now that the castle knew they were there, they needed to go fast. 

So, while he’d have loved to relax and let Gwaine heal properly, they couldn’t. Arthur barked out orders, the men following them. Daffodil was brought over, as Percival and Leon helped Gwaine stand. Gwaine was half awake at the moment, a touch delirious, but he listened and followed what was told of him. Arthur got on the horse and held his arms out for Gwaine to be lifted. Gwaine moaned in pain as he was jostled, but Arthur settled him carefully against him, shifting to hold him steady. The others had removed all other weight from the horse, so hopefully his and Gwaine’s combined weight wasn’t too much. She seemed uncomfortable, but she wasn’t buckling. They might be able to walk for a few hours without her giving out. 

“We need to get as far away as we can. Are we ready to go?” He asked, looking down at his friends. They all nodded. Arthur then looked to Merlin, who was looking at the blood on the ground with a pinched expression. Gwen was beside him, her arm wrapped tight around his side, looking concerned. “Merlin.”

Merlin looked up, guilt bright in his eyes. Oh. He blamed himself, Arthur knew he did. He didn’t know quite what had happened, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with the teleportation. He had felt Gwaine get pulled away from him, he recalled. Maybe that was what had caused the injury, as teleportation was a tricky spell, Merlin had muttered to him once before. He hadn’t known it could cause such deep injuries, but it was possible. 

“I’m okay. Let’s go. We need to get him someplace safe to rest,” Merlin rasped, eyes glassy. Some determination had filled them, more so when Bedivere handed him his staff, causing some of his color to return. Good. Arthur nodded tightly, shifting Gwaine in his arms when the man moaned in pain. 

“Shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you. Get some rest, Gwaine. You’ll be fine. You’re not allowed to die, alright? I forbid it,” Arthur muttered, his arm firm around Gwaine’s toned chest. Gwaine, even though he was half out of it, chuckled weakly. 

“S-sss-so, so bossy. Princess,” Gwaine mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. Drama queen, Arthur thought fondly in reply, trying to ignore his panic. He lightly kissed Gwaine’s temple, breathing in the musk of the man. It was foul, yes, but it was distinctly Gwaine. Comforting, somehow. Gwaine nuzzled into him somewhat, humming lightly. “Mm. I shh... shou... fuck. Should get injured more of’en. ‘Snice.”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” he muttered as Lance began leading Daffodil away from the city, Arthur too busy trying to keep Gwaine upright and comfortable to steer. Daffodil was slow in her movements, uncomfortable with the heavy weight, but she’d been a traveling merchant’s horse, Gwaine had told them once. She would probably be used to heavy weights on her back, then. 

The group trudged onward for hours, the light beginning to fade before they stopped for the night. They had briefly heard shouting in the distance as a party was sent out to look for them, but that had been hours before. Since then, they’d heard nothing. 

They stopped beside a crystal-clear pond for the night, Arthur helping Gwaine, who’s fallen into a fitful sleep, off the horse with Percy’s help. The man didn’t stir, which was concerning, but he did mutter in his sleep, which meant he was still alive, at least. Arthur would have known if he weren’t. He’d kept his hand on the man’s pulse point the entire time, after all. 

They settled Gwaine down on two bed rolls, Gwen sacrificing hers so that Gwaine would be more comfortable. As annoying as the man was, they all loved him fiercely and would do anything for him. Arthur had smiled at her weakly, before redressing Gwaine’s wound. 

It looked bad, he thought grimly, peeling off the bandages with a grimace. The large wound was turning slightly white and yellow, infection setting in despite his best efforts. He used more of the tincture, Gwaine crying in pain as he was jolted from his rest, eyes tight with pain. 

“Shh, shh, Gwaine! It’s alright, you’re alright! Don’t worry, I’m just cleaning your wound. It’s okay, relax,” Arthur muttered as soothingly as he could, hurrying his motions. The wound began to look better with more of the tincture on it, so he began wrapping it again. Gwaine’s skin was feeling overly warm, though, even in the cool early Spring weather. He was sweating, too, eyes glazed as he mumbled incomprehensible words. Fuck. He had a fever. Arthur had felt the heat radiating from the man while on the horse, but he’d hoped it had just been residual body heat. 

Arthur dipped a piece of cloth in the pond and wrung the excess water out, before wiping Gwaine’s forehead with it. He was about to repeat the process when Gwen gently took the cloth, looking at him with sad eyes. 

“Here, Arthur, let me do that. You look exhausted, and you’re covered in blood. Go clean yourself off, okay? Then get dressed. You can’t help anyone if you catch ill yourself.” 

Arthur tried to protest, but Gwen just shook her head and pointed to the pond. Knowing better than to argue with the girl, he sighed, shaking his head. 

“Fine,” he groused, stomping over to the other side of the pond. He was still wearing the trousers from the guard uniform Merlin had conjured, he noted distantly, uncomfortable as they were. He grabbed his pack from where Merlin had set up their bedrolls (near the pond but beside a small cliff, Merlin’s bedroll pressed to the side of the overhang), before taking his trousers off and slipping into the pond. He was far enough away from his friends, and it was dark enough besides, that he had privacy, even as his friends started working on a campfire. He didn’t really care. They’d all seen him in various states of undress over the years. 

As he scrubbed the blood off his body (and he tried hard not to think of the man whose body the blood came from, his stomach roiling whenever he did), he heard shuffling by the shore. He turned his head and saw Merlin standing there, feet in the water with his trousers rolled up to his knees, eyes dim as he looked into the water. Arthur sighed, wading over to his betrothed. 

“Hey,” he whispered when he was close enough to touch Merlin. Merlin said nothing, just turned his head a little, acknowledging that he’d heard him. “How are you? Is your magic okay?”

Merlin stayed quiet for a second, motionless, before nodding tensely. “Yeah. I’m okay. Magic is coming back slowly. How’s Gwaine?”

Arthur inhaled slowly, shrugging. 

“He’s alright. He’s a fighter. Bastard would probably argue with death if it tried to claim him. He’ll be okay, I think. Infection is starting to set in, but as long as we change his bandages regularly and keep the wound clean, he should be okay.”

Merlin nodded, leaning against him when Arthur put his arms around the former prince. He was mostly dry, his body clean from the blood and grime from earlier. Merlin sighed as he put his arms around Arthur in return. 

“I should be able to heal him better in the morning,” Merlin muttered, pressing his ear against Arthur’s naked chest, listening to his heart, he guessed. Arthur was still wearing his underthings, but he felt strangely naked standing here, for some reason. “It’s my fault he got hurt.”

Arthur shook his head firmly, raising a hand to brush through Merlin’s tangled hair. 

“Don’t, Merlin. You did what you could. You got us all out of there. We all knew the risk involved in entering the castle. We got out with fairly minor injuries. Yeah, Gwaine will probably have to heal for a while, even with your healing magic, but he’s still alive. We’re all still alive, and no one got caught. Plus, we got the book. Right?”

He added that last question because he suddenly realized he hadn’t seen the book since he’d dropped it in his haste to help Gwaine. He’d assumed someone must have picked it up at some point. Oh, God. They hadn’t left it, had they?!

Before he could panic too much, Merlin nodded, pulling closer. 

“Yeah. I haven’t had time to look at it, but I’m sure that it’s the right book. How are your lungs? We all inhaled a lot of smoke...” Merlin muttered, looking up at Arthur with wide eyes. Arthur took a deep breath, coughing lightly as it ached. But it wasn’t too bad. 

“I’ll be fine. You?”

Merlin nodded, saying he was fine too. He then sighed, before pulling back and heading over to their bedrolls. He had cleaned his face and hands, so he no longer had soot all over him. Arthur was oddly glad. Merlin looked more like himself, now. 

Arthur exited the water, shivering in the light breeze. It was no longer frigid at night, the May weather pleasant, but it was still chill when coming out of the brisk water. He went into his pack and began to change, the sunlight rapidly dying. 

“Leon has made dinner, if you’re hungry,” Merlin muttered, leaning down, and picking up the book. Arthur felt his heart speed up as he looked at the book that they’d worked so hard to find. Hopefully, it contained the answers they were looking for. Arthur ignored Merlin’s words and wandered over, looking at the book as Merlin opened to the page he’d found earlier. He still couldn’t read it, but he just watched as Merlin muttered some words, reading with quick eyes. 

“It says that the chalice was used by Roman heroes,” Merlin muttered, his fingers trailing on the page, humming lightly. “It was used to defeat some great Mage, who’d been terrorizing the people. It says that anyone who drank water that came from the cup would have any magic banished from their body and become immune to the power of magic entirely. It was considered dangerous, however, and was cast away to the depth of the Mediterranean, to never be seen again.”

Arthur blinked, reeling back. The Mediterranean? He wasn’t the best with geography, but he’d seen enough maps to know that Camelot was nowhere near the Mediterranean Sea. 

“How the hell did my father find it, then?” He muttered, squinting at the page, vainly hoping the words would become clear then. Merlin shrugged, before turning the page. 

To his devastation, the following page was badly stained, a visceral looking fluid dried on the page. Shit. 

“No!” Merlin cried, rubbing at the stain with desperation. It didn’t clear, though. Nothing could be read. 

“Can you clean it? With magic?” Arthur questioned. Merlin grimaced, shrugging. 

“I can try... I’ll have to be careful, though. This book seems to be very old. There are specific spells that can be used to clean old tomes like this one… Geoffrey explained some of them to me, once, though he wasn’t much of a mage. I’ll try and remember them. I can’t right now, though. My magic is exhausted, and I need to focus on Gwaine first.”

Arthur would have protested that, that Gwaine would be fine and they needed to know what the book said, but he closed his mouth at Merlin’s stubborn look. Instead, he nodded tightly. They had the book. That was enough for now. The entire page wasn’t covered with the stain, though, some words visible. He nodded to the page. 

“Can you decipher the words that are visible?”

Merlin hummed, squinting at the text. 

“It’s unclear… it seems the book is talking about quests people had gone on to find the cup, to no avail. The smudged part, here,” Merlin pointed to the top of the stain, where the words began to blur into illegibility, “seems to be talking about some people thinking it might be too dangerous to leave in the sea, so a group of people were trying to find it to… I think this last word might be destroy? I can’t tell. It’s so smudged.”

Arthur’s heart was pounding, and he could see that Merlin’s hands were shaking, his eyes wide as he looked at the page, swallowing thickly. 

“Merlin. If that’s true…” he trailed off. But he didn’t have to finish. Merlin knew what he had meant. Merlin nodded, looking up at him with shining eyes. 

“God, I hope so. We should get some rest, though, so my magic can recharge. We need to leave early tomorrow, get further from Camelot. You should get some dinner, though. You’ve not had much to eat today,” Merlin muttered, closing the book carefully. The thing looked old and worn, so Arthur didn’t find it surprising that it was stained. At least it was only stained, not ripped. Merlin might be able to fix a stain. A rip? That would be harder. He assumed. He honestly had no idea how that magic would work, though. 

Merlin walked with him over to the campfire that their friends had gotten started, Leon stirring a pot, like Merlin had said. They were taking turns cooking dinner each night, the ones of them who knew how at least. Everyone agreed that Arthur was the best (ha), and Gwaine was the worst, so it usually alternated between Arthur and some of the others. He didn’t mind. He usually liked to cook. 

Leon wasn’t bad, though, and the stew was pleasant enough. It had some dried pheasant in it, that Gwaine and Percy had caught the other day, as well as some mushrooms that he and Merlin had picked the day before, simmered in water with herbs scattered in for flavor. It wasn’t the best in the world, but for what they had, it was good enough. 

“Were you able to find what you were looking for?” Leon asked, eyebrow raised. The others grew silent, looking up from their empty bowls at Arthur and Merlin. He shared a look with his betrothed, who shrugged. 

“We found out more about the chalice. Apparently, it’s Greek or Roman in nature. Came from before the birth of Christ, I think the book said. It was dropped into the Mediterranean, but somehow Uther must have found it. This is clearly it. It sounds exactly like what we described. The chalice, roughly translated to The Chalice of Sorcery, removes all magic from a person. Banishes it, the book claims. Unfortunately, the book is a bit ruined, the back of the page badly stained. I should be able to fix it, with time. I need to rest, first. Regain my strength. I’m sorry.”

Arthur hated how small Merlin sounded, how miserable. Like he was failing them by not being able to do everything. 

“Everyone has their limits, Prince Merlin ,” Gwen said softly, moving closer and putting her hand on his. Merlin had tried to get the others to stop calling him a prince, and while half the time they did, half the time they’d call him Prince Merlin by accident. Merlin had stopped bothering to correct them, just sighing softly instead. Gwen didn’t apologize, however, like she usually did, and instead had a determined look in her eyes. She’d used the honorific on purpose, then. “You can’t expect yourself to go passed them. You’ve done so much already, so far. Don’t beat yourself up for what you can’t do. It’s okay.”

Merlin looked up at the girl, with a bit of a lost look in his eyes. Gwen hummed softly and hugged Merlin gently, whispering something in his ear. Whatever it was made his eyes go wide, before he nodded slowly, wrapping his arms around her in return. They stayed like that for a moment before she pulled back, smiling kindly. Merlin smiled back, looking grateful. 

“Okay. Thanks, Gwen. I think I’m going to head to bed, now. We have to leave early tomorrow, so we can make sure we’re as far away from Camelot as possible. I’ll be up early to take a look at Gwaine, maybe try some spells on the book. I’ll see you all later.”

Merlin stood then and gave his barely eaten stew back to Leon, with a sheepish smile on his face. Leon frowned a little, but said nothing, just wishing Merlin a good night. 

Arthur thought about following the man immediately, but he was hungry, so he just ate his stew slowly, thinking. 

The day had been very eventful, he had to admit. Too eventful. But they had gotten through it. No one was dead, which was good. Gwaine would survive, he was sure of it. He’d made it through the worst of it, Gwen making sure he ate some food and drank some water before letting him sleep fitfully. She said that she would watch him through the night, Lance saying he’d take over halfway through so she could get some rest. He’d be fine, though he’d likely have a nasty scar, and might not be up to fighting for some time. He knew his friend would hate it, but he was a good shot with the crossbow. He could be their long-range artillery, as long as it didn’t pull on his side. That was just as important as close-range combat in a war. 

Eventually Arthur was done eating and he stood with a groan. The sun had completely set, the sounds of nocturnal animals prowling the forest filling the air. They had enough light from their campfire and various torches that they should be fine, though. 

Arthur wandered over to where Merlin was currently lying down, facing the cliff face he’d put their bedrolls against. Arthur quietly removed his boots, belt, and jacket and got onto his bedroll, slotting himself against Merlin’s back with a sigh. Merlin shuffled, humming softly as he blinked at Arthur, half awake. 

“Go to sleep, my love. And have no nightmares,” he muttered, gently kissing Merlin’s neck. Merlin muttered something back, but it was too muffled for him to hear. Merlin fell asleep within seconds, meaning that Arthur wouldn’t be getting his magical sleep that night, he supposed. 

That was fine, he thought, pulling Merlin as close as he physically could. It was never particularly comfortable to sleep on the ground, but it was so nice being beside Merlin. He pulled their blankets closer around them and settled, eyes closed. 

It took him quite a while that night before he finally succumbed to his exhaustion, but he didn’t mind. It was nice, holding Merlin so tenderly, while the man slept peacefully in his arms. His soft snores were adorable, as were the small snuffling sounds that he would make every so often. 

And if Arthur woke, several hours later, his heart pounding as he woke from the first real nightmare he’d had in weeks, well. It was fine. He just told Merlin to go back to sleep, while he stood up and stared at the lake for the remaining hours before dawn, unable to shake the image of dream Merlin, eyes tight with pain as he bleed out, until those bright blue eyes lost their light entirely. 

When Merlin woke an hour before dawn, asking if Arthur was alright, Arthur lied and said he was fine. 

It was true. He’d be fine. 

Maybe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	35. No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _~~~No more defending the lies_  
>  _Behind the never-ending war_  
>  _It's time to make them realize_  
>  _We will no longer be their whore_  
>  _No, it can't be disguised anymore_  
>  _How they smile as we pay for their war~~~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!! Happy New Year!!!
> 
> Sorry for the delay!!! I've been particularly unwell recently, nothing COVID, just general fatigue. I've mostly been in bed, writing a new fanfiction. I wrote over 120,000 words in a week. I... should not be allowed idle time. I go NUTS with it, jeez... this fanfic at least is a lot more general than this one. The plot is basic, just a high school romance fanfic of a video game visual novel I've been invested in unwillingly, called Danganronpa, and while it's angsty, it's not as complicated as this story. Hopefully it's shorter than this one! I only have 3 more days of break, so my leisure time is gonna be drastically cut short, ha. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is, uh... intense? I think? It's the beginning of the end, the climax is soon, so hopefully the logic and all that makes sense. I'll be honest, I don't really know where we are, ha. I got some nice comments last chapter that really mean a lot to me, so that you, guys. I don't hate this story, I just... don't have the energy to love it, you know? I'm the type of person to put a ton of energy into something all at once, and then afterward, move on. Posting this story is taking a long time, but we're almost done!! 
> 
> I do have some kind of announcement, though... so, y'all know how this story is listed as having 40 chapters on AO3? Well... that's kind of a lie. It's SUPPOSED to have 40 chapters, but I, uh... never wrote the last two. They were supposed to be epilogues, right? And I wanted to write them after posting, to see what all of y'all thought of it. 
> 
> Well... now, I'm not so sure I'm ever going to write those chapters. Like... this story ends, you know? The 38th chapter has an ending, it's just an open one. Now, what I can do, is this. I have ideas for the epilogue, right? I know what I had wanted to write, before. If y'all want, after chapter 38, I can just... post one last chapter and have, like... a bullet point list saying what was going to happen. Just little loose ends tied up. I'm sorry that I can't do more. It means so, so much to me that people are enjoying this story, even if I'm not as much anymore. I want to do right by y'all, but I just... don't know if I can. Let me know what y'all think about this, if having it have an open ending works better, or if the bullet point epilogue works. Y'all can wait 'til then to let me know, just wanted to give a heads up, and explain why I changed the chapter count. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from the song No More, by Disturbed. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Merlin looked down into the verifiable sea of men and women, his heart clenching as the reality of the situation hit him. 

They were really about to go to war. 

“God. This is really happening, isn’t it?” He heard a voice mutter to his side, causing him to look over at the man who he loved more than life itself. His other half. His partner in crime and in peace. 

Arthur was staring down into the army his uncles and mother had rounded up, his face pale as snow and his blue eyes wide as the ocean. He looked as terrified as Merlin felt, for once not hiding it. Not from him. 

It had been a month and a half. A month and a half since they had infiltrated Camelot and had taken the book that had proved their salvation. 

It hadn’t taken him long to clean the page of the stain. It had been very hard, especially when battling with the all-encompassing guilt he felt for severing Gwaine, his mind replaying the horrific moment over and over again in his mind. 

Severing was one of the biggest dangers of teleportation. Merlin had always known that. If a sorcerer tried to teleport without proper preparation or while inebriated or otherwise indisposed, they ran the risk of severing themselves. The severing ranged from minor, such as hair or fingernails, to severe, such as entire body parts. Gaius had informed him, grimly, of a case of someone losing their head, once. He’d been fourteen at the time, just beginning to learn how to teleport, and had naively asked if the sorcerer had been alright. Gaius had given him a hard stare before moving on. 

Merlin had never severed himself while teleporting before. He’d always been careful and elected to use a teleportation spell that was least dangerous (though all teleportation was dangerous; one was forcing their very essence through the nether between worlds. It was difficult and finicky to do), so he’d never had a problem. But he’d also never teleported so many people before, while under duress. 

The only thing he could say was that it hadn’t been worse. Gwaine only ended up losing most of his skin, as well as the topmost layer of his muscle, on his left side. By now it had completely healed, but the scar would always remain. As would the twinge of pain that Gwaine would try and hide when he stretched a certain way, Merlin feared. He’d done what he could, after his magic had returned, but... well, severing was often unable to be undone, once it happened. Not fully. They were honestly lucky he had only lost part of his side and not an arm or leg. 

Or his head. 

Anyway. Working on the delicate magic that book restoration required while his mind was swimming with guilt, Gwaine still laid up in bed with a fever that had been waxing and waning, his wound healing but still bad… well. It had been hard. So much harder than he’d ever have thought it would be. It was clearing up a stain. He was sure that non-magical people could have done similar things, albeit with a lot more time and patience. How hard could it be? 

Very, as it turned out. Very hard. 

It had taken him three and a half days of near nonstop work on perfecting the spell he was utilizing. It had been hard to find shelter for such an extended stay, but they’d found an abandoned cave a few days after retrieving the book that was relatively large, while hidden, for them to lay low in while Gwaine healed and Merlin worked his magic. 

Because he hadn’t wanted to damage the book if he messed up, he’d had some of the others head to the nearest town to pick up a few books for him to test on, new and old. They’d decided that Gwen, Elyan, and Lance should not go, in the offside (very offside) chance someone recognized them. It was unlikely, but hey. Why run unnecessary risks? 

In the end, Leon, Percy, and Pellinore had made the trip, taking the last of Merlin’s gold that Arthur had grabbed from the palace before the siege (slaughter, whatever), and buying both the books, and various supplies they would need. Clean bandages, for one, as they had quickly run out of supply. Gwen had also, face bright red and burning, asked for some clean rags. No one asked why she needed such a thing, as everyone else was bright red, knowing enough about anatomy to know why. 

Merlin had immediately started his experiments and tests, working with half remembered spells the best he could. Sadly, he’d never spent much time focusing on restoration spells, as he’d never expected to have need of them. He tried to fill the gaps in his memory by substituting and trying words he knew in Latin, Welsh, or Gaelic that might fit, depending on the language of the spell he was using. It was never advised to try and substitute words in a spell if you didn’t know what the word substitution would do, but, well… desperate times, and all. 

Luckily, none of the words he tried set anything on fire. The worst that happened was one of the books became illegible, the ink turning liquid somehow and running off the page. Endlessly glad he had elected to practice on different books, he altered the spell and tried again. He had been trying to undo whatever had caused the stain, but it seemed he had undone the drying of the ink. While not his desired effect, it was close to what he had wanted, so he kept trying, tweaking his wording and inflection to make it work right. 

He’d barely slept, a fact that worried Arthur, the man frowning at him every night but not pushing the matter. He’d come over and keep Merlin company as long as he could, but he’d always end up falling asleep, usually sitting up. Because of the privacy spells Merlin had around his little area, not to mention the silencing charms, his work space was quiet and almost isolated, so sometimes Merlin would take a break and watch his beloved as he slept, without fear of others judging him. It had been nice, though he’d hated it when Arthur would wake up, eyes wide with panic, breathing hard. Merlin tried to remember to tell Arthur to not have any nightmares before he fell asleep, but he often was so entranced in his work that he didn’t realize Arthur had fallen asleep until he was snoring (loudly! Arthur snored so fucking loud, but damn him if he didn’t find it adorable regardless), drool dripping down his chin onto the table Merlin had spelled into existence. Merlin would then gently move Arthur to his bedroll, the man so tired he wouldn’t wake. And Merlin didn’t have the heart to wake him, besides. 

Merlin probably got an hour sleep, total, those three and a half days. By the time he’d finally gotten it right, his eyes wide as the gore he’d put on the practice book (which was the oldest of the ones Leon and the others had gotten him, but not nearly as old as the real deal) lifted off, he knew he needed to rest properly before he did the main event. 

And so, on the fourth day after they’d entered the cave (almost a week after obtaining the book), Merlin had managed to lift the stain from the delicate pages, Arthur watching nearby with bated breath. 

He still blushed a little as he remembered the very heated kiss he had shared with Arthur after that, the man pushing him up against the cave wall and snogging him within an inch of his life, hands roving his body so deliciously. They’d had to stop, briefly, when Arthur had, ahem, _had an accident_ , the man blushing bright red and stammering apologized, but Merlin had found it so adorable he hadn’t minded. 

Arthur still was reluctant to do anything too physical, the man’s nobility and honor preventing him from taking anything before marriage, no matter how sweetly offered, but that was okay. Merlin was willing to wait. He never wanted to pressure Arthur into anything he felt uncomfortable with, even slightly. Even if they never had sex, he wouldn’t mind. Too much. He was feeling very tense, having not had the freedom to, well. _Take care of himself_ in a while. They’d just been going nonstop for months now that he hadn’t had time. Or energy, really. 

Arthur had palmed him through his trousers, though, even as he had flushed bright red and was shaking somewhat. Merlin had tried to say it was alright, that he hadn’t had to if he didn’t want, but Arthur had been strangely insistent, saying it was the least he could do, after cumming in his pants like a child. He’d then said that he truly wanted to, to see Merlin come apart, when Merlin had tried to protest that he didn’t need any repayment, or whatever. 

It had been nice. They had not had any time to do anything similar since then, sadly, but the memory was so sweet and golden to Merlin that it kept him warm late at night, when working on other tasks. But he was getting ahead of himself. 

With that, ah, _taken care of_ , Merlin had headed back to the book and read the rest of the page with hungry eyes. Eyes which had gone wide when he read the words that were written then. He’d then laughed, long and hard, until tears streamed down his face, Arthur so concerned that he’d almost headed into the main room and gotten help. Merlin had been able to calm himself enough to stop the helpless giggles, looking at Arthur with shining eyes. 

“It seems that your Dragon wasn’t lying, after all,” he’d said, shaking his head. At Arthur’s confused look, Merlin explained. 

“The fire of a great dragon. Are you serious? The enchantment can be broken by heating the damn thing by the fire of a Great Dragon and melting it into scrap?” Arthur had asked, voice incredulous. Merlin had shrugged, shaking his head. 

“That’s how it had been forged,” he’d explained. “Or so the book claims. There wasn’t much on the topic, only two pages. Something forged in a dragon’s flame cannot be unmade. It’s everlasting, unable to be undone. It was why dragons were once hunted, near to extinction, their fire and breath holding more power than anything. It’s why Dragonlords even exist! To help protest these noble creatures from harm.”

“If it can’t be undone, then what do you mean,” Arthur questioned slowly, eyes narrowed. Merlin had taken a deep breath, trying his hardest to explain the slightly complicated concept. 

“Alright. So, dragons are powerful. Yeah? Their scales are nearly indestructible, their blood the most powerful ingredient possible. Their fire can imbue metal and other such minerals with fantastical abilities that are near impossible to undo, creating objects that cannot be broken by mortal means. But there is a way to break an object enchanted by a dragon. Specifically, an object enchanted by a _lesser_ dragon. Kilgharrah is called the Great Dragon for a reason. He’s the most powerful of them all, living for thousands of years. If this cup had been forged in his flame, it truly would have been unbreakable, even by him. But, if it wasn’t, and I don’t think it was, then there is a chance that Kilgharrah can destroy the object, the cup, with enough power. It will not be easy, nor will it be quick. But if we can get the cup and have Kilgharrah destroy it, all enchantments or effects created by it will cease. By melting it, the runes along the side, here,” Merlin showed the runes from the picture, intricate and beautiful, “will be destroyed. And the magic will work no more.”

Arthur had looked at the picture of the chalice, licking his lips slowly. Merlin hadn’t been able to help the ways his eyes had been drawn to the bruised things, his mouth aching as he recalled their activities from mere minutes before. He’d shaken himself out of it when Arthur hummed, speaking again. 

“And the book says this? You know this for certain?”

Merlin had paused then, wavering. Arthur had groaned at his look, running a hand through his hair.

“No, don’t be like that,” Merlin whined, sounding more like a child than he’d intended. Arthur had given him such a _look_ at that that he’d felt slightly ashamed. He’d huffed, though, and continued. “Look. It doesn’t say it directly. The book says that the people looking for the chalice wanted to try destroying it, but instead had learned that it had been forged in a dragon’s fire, making it neigh indestructible. That’s why it had been cast into the Mediterranean in the first place, rather than destroyed outright. The book concludes by saying that the chalice, if it indeed existed, would be best to stay unfound, for the good of the world.” 

Merlin had paused, taking a deep breath. 

“However, I know dragons. I’m a fucking Dragonlord, of course I know dragons. What I’m saying is true. Father… father told me when I was young. Trust me, Arthur. If anyone can destroy the chalice, Kilgharrah can.”

“And if he refuses?” Arthur questioned, frown deep on his face. He shook his head, sighing. “Kilgharrah isn’t exactly the most helpful of creatures, _Mer_ lin. You know this. What if he refuses?” 

Merlin’s eyes had turned hard, then, fist clenching tight. 

“Then I’ll force him to,” he’d growled, voice more menacing than he’d ever heard it. But he meant it. Even if Kilgharrah had learned how to go against his father, well, as Merlin always said, he wasn’t his father. He’d find a way to make the Dragon listen to him. Somehow. Someway. This was more important than some beast and his cryptic ways. 

But, if he was being truthful, he hadn’t expected Kilgharrah to refuse. And when he’d spoken to the beast, the following day (the rest of the group ecstatic that they’d found a solution, Merlin not telling them about the possible problem), he’d been proven right. 

“Well done, young warlock,” the Dragon had claimed, looking like he truly meant it. “That was no easy thing to discover. That text had been lost for centuries before it had been found and brought to your father for safe keeping. How Uther got a hold of it’s information, I will never know, even with my powers.”

“Will you help,” Merlin had demanded, eyes hard. He hadn’t been in the mood for talking in circles or being given the runaround. He cut straight to the point, Arthur beside him, the man a tense line as they looked up at the Dragon together, united in their intensity. 

Kilgharrah had stared at them for several seconds, unblinking. Merlin was about to start yelling, demanding, and calling on old promises, when the Dragon inclined his head slightly. In agreement, Merlin had realized, heart jolting. 

“I cannot promise my fire will work,” the beast had warned, voice low and rumbling. “The chalice was forged in the breath of a great dragon, after all. Not myself, no, but a powerful dragon, nonetheless. My kin. We shall have to see who is more powerful, I suppose. I will help, however, as best I can. I have no desire to see Albion fall and magic die. Not to the likes of Uther Pendragon.”

It had felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Like the mountain he’d been carrying had finally been removed. He’d actually staggered, laughing breathlessly, before thanking the Dragon profusely.

Kilgharrah had shaken his head, voice grim. “Do not celebrate too quickly, young warlock. After all, you still do not have the chalice in your possession. I believe you humans have a phrase for this. What is it… ‘do not count your chickens before they hatch?’ Yes. I will assist you in destroying the chalice, but you must, first, obtain the chalice. I will not provide help in that regard. You must figure it out yourself. That is all I will say on the matter.”

The words had frustrated Merlin, but as he’d not figured any different, he didn’t try and argue. He just nodded, tightly. Kilgharrah had flown off after that, Merlin’s watching until he was but a speck in the sky. 

It wasn’t long after that that the group left the cave, Gwaine still injured, but no longer in any danger at all. In fact, he seemed content to make everyone else’s lives miserable. 

“Gwaine. You know you’re my best friend and I love you. But if you ask me to massage your feet one more time, I’m going to bash your head in.”

Merlin had to suppress the snort as Gwaine pouted at Arthur, the man actually milking his injury for all it was worth, this time around. He’d been almost a nightmare to deal with, though Merlin did everything Gwaine asked without complaint, no matter how ridiculous. It wasn’t even just guilt that made him do it, though that was the main aspect. He just wanted to help. It was for that reason, he was sure, that Gwaine stopped asking him from things. He didn’t actually want the tasks to be done. Well, not really. He was trying to piss everyone off, so they’d stop looking at him with concern and worry. Gwaine hated that, Merlin knew, which was why he tried his best to keep his guilt off his face. He knew he failed, as Gwaine would give him this Look, but he did try. 

“I’m injured, Arthur! You wouldn’t help your poor, deathly wounded friend? I could die!”

He couldn’t. Not unless something else happened. After the first night, there had been no worries about him dying of complications due to the severing. The bleeding had been controlled, and while he’d had a mild infection, the tinctures that Arthur had made, as well as Merlin’s healing spells, had pretty much healed that within a few days. 

But that was likely what Gwaine was trying to indicate. To get the others to stop looking at him as if he were about to die. Arthur had sighed, shaken his head, before wandering off. That’s what he usually did when Gwaine got like that. 

Eventually Gwaine got better enough that he was able to start doing exercises to build up the muscle around the wound. He hadn’t lost much, but losing any muscle was, well… bad. Merlin had elected to help him with this, for multiple reasons. One, he still felt bad and wanted to do something to help him. Two, it was something he could do and meant he didn’t have to panic about the war efforts that everyone else was worrying about. And three, Gwaine would have been godawful to anyone else who tried to help him, save maybe Gwen, and Merlin hadn’t wanted Gwaine to die by strangulation or blunt force trauma after all he’d done to save the jackass’s life. Plus, it likely went by faster since Gwaine was actually trying to get better with him around, not to mention that Merlin could help with the pain if it got too much. 

The only problem was that Arthur got a little bit… well, jealous. Oh, the man never said it, but Merlin could see it in his eyes when he watched the pair with their training, Merlin carefully helping Gwaine with the exercises that Gaius had told him once worked well for muscle injuries, or things like atrophy. Merlin sometimes had to get really close to Gwaine, who was shirtless for most of it (felt better on the wound, Merlin knew. Gwaine had actually tried to put on a shirt, knowing Arthur didn’t like Merlin being around a shirtless Gwaine all the time, but Merlin had insisted, saying it would heal better if it wasn’t agitated. Or something. He mostly hadn’t wanted Gwaine in any pain, and if he could help it, he would), which likely made things worse for his betrothed.

That was easily remedied, however, late at night before they went to bed. They still didn’t have time to do anything, as they spent most of their days plotting how to get the chalice, while determining their next steps, but Merlin would spend several long minutes kissing his betrothed until he was too exhausted every night, under covers, where no one could see them. He’d whisper to Arthur that he was the only one for him, that he wanted no other. That while, yes, he did still love Gwaine, it was nothing compared to what he felt for Arthur. That had seemed to help. 

Things came to a head the second week after obtaining the book, a month and a week after Uther took the crown. 

Up until that point, Uther hadn’t done much in the way of harming magic users. He’d just been rounding them up, taking any of the titles and gold they’d unjustly been given during the Purge (his father had taken gold from prominent non-magic families and had given it to some of his most trusted magical followers. He had a feeling that grated on a lot of non-magic users) and removing them. He’d then put them in the reform camps, even creating a few new ones to house the expanding number of prisoners. Merlin hated it, but it didn’t seem that they were being harmed. As long as they didn’t try to escape, that was. 

Since the chalice didn’t work on objects, technically, the magic users could have escaped at any time. Uther would dissuade that by having anyone who was known to be consorting with the person who had escaped, or even tried to, executed. Learning about that was when Merlin had really begun to fear Uther and what he was capable of. He claimed he didn’t want needless death yet didn’t care if he killed innocent people to spite others. 

That being said, on the second week after they’d infiltrated Camelot, news finally reached them of what Uther had done in response to their supposed ‘attack,’ as he had officially called it. The action was supposed to be a call to them, to get them to come out of hiding, but since they were hiding, they’d hadn’t heard about it until it was too late. 

“Two-hundred sorcerers, dead,” Merlin had intoned, his stomach sick as he heard the news Owain had reported, pale face, after heading into a town to collect intel. There hadn’t been much information about it, more speculation and scandal in the relatively small town Owain had entered, but it had been enough to both enrage and terrify Merlin. 

Before then, they had mostly been biding their time. He didn’t know why, but the urgency he had felt after the siege had, well… waned, a bit. Don’t get him wrong, he still was terrified and wanted to get things over with, but once they knew what the chalice was, but had no idea how to obtain it… it was like he’d been put on hold. He’d focused on Gwaine, since Gwaine’s injury was something he could work with. Something he could fix. He had no idea how he was going to get the chalice from Uther, let alone get it far enough away to be destroyed by Kilgharrah. 

But he didn’t have the luxury of waiting any longer. They had to figure out a way to strike, and strike fast. 

It had taken an entire day of debate. Some of the group felt that they should try infiltrating the castle again, as it worked the last time. 

“Barely,” Arthur had sneered, looking pointedly at Gwaine, who was finally well enough to wear a shirt without intense discomfort. Gwaine had shrugged, saying all things considered it had been a fairly minor injury, seeing as he was alive and all. “Because we fucking healed you, you pillock!” Arthur had screamed in return. 

Before that could escalate, Gwaine looking annoyed, Merlin had cut in. 

“Arthur is right.” 

That had shut everyone up. Huh. He hadn’t even realized that the group considered him to be an authority on anything. Interesting. 

Merlin had gone on to explain that it wouldn’t work a second time. Doing it successfully once had been a miracle. Twice? They had no chance. Plus, they had no idea where Uther would be hiding the chalice. If it was even in the castle or not. 

After both Arthur and Merlin agreed on the matter, the plan was considered dropped. But that left them with the fact they had no other ideas. Literally. They spent an entire day arguing and by the end of it, no useable ideas were thought of.

It left Merlin feeling angry and scared. The news of the massacre had left him shaken, his head barraging him with guilt, telling him that it was all his fault. That if he’d been better, stronger, faster… smarter… then maybe they wouldn’t have died. Maybe they’d still be alive. 

Arthur had tried to pacify him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but Merlin refused to listen. Even their bond wasn’t enough to make the guilt go away. 

A couple days after that news, however, other news reached them. And this news was… peculiar. 

“Someone liberated an entire camp of sorcerers?” Arthur had questioned, Merlin feeling just as incredulous. “How?” 

Leon had shrugged, eyes wide. He’d only heard the whispers about the event, most of the non-magical people scared that they were going to be killed by angry magic users, now that they were freed. 

It had been one of the larger camps, too. Possibly the largest, with over five hundred sorcerers in its grasp. How they had managed to escape, and who had freed them… they had no idea. But it was good news, Merlin hoped. Hopefully. 

It was not long after that that the message arrived. 

They had been sharing a quiet lunch, camping around the northern border of Camelot. They were not exactly close to Fayford, but they were in the general area. They hadn’t done that by plan, but Merlin figured that the group had unconsciously wandered back to familiar ground. It made sense, Merlin figured. They were also far from the city of Camelot, up here, so hopefully they’d be safe. 

It had been a couple days before Arthur’s birthday, in fact. May 24th. Merlin had wanted to try and do something special for the occasion, Arthur turning twenty-three, but his mind had been strangely blank. How could you have a birthday celebration when on the run? Especially when you all were half terrified out of your collective minds? 

Merlin had wanted to, though. To have one good day, one day not ruined by panic and fear. He’d been thinking, intensely, plotting with their friends in secret. Gwaine had suggested grabbing some booze from the nearest town the next chance they got, which Merlin privately agreed with, but Gwen shot down. “We need to be clear headed, Gwaine. We can’t risk being inebriated, even for one night.”

The idea was still on the table, though. Other ideas had included buying some actual good supplies for food so they could have a decent meal, but they’d run out of gold a while before. They could steal it, yes, but that was risky. Someone else suggested having a lazy day by a lake, as Arthur used to like swimming, but that seemed too simple. Someone else recommended they let Arthur boss them around, since he loved doing that, but someone else shot back that Arthur already bossed them around, so how would that be any different?

Their planning had been interrupted by the smoke hawk that had appeared in their camp late one night, Merlin’s heart pounding as he immediately shot up, his staff in hand, glaring at the thing. 

“What do you want?” He’d shouted at the thing. It didn’t reply. Obviously, as smoke animals couldn’t speak. They were barley corporeal, but could carry messages on their legs, if needed. 

It seemed this one had a message, as it held its leg out, preening it’s nonexistent feathers with an unimpressed look on its ghostly face. 

Arthur had shared a long look with him, before Merlin shrugged and carefully strode forward. Immediately after he removed the letter, the bird dissolved into actual smoke, nothing left but the lingering scent of burned things. Merlin had had to force himself not to gag, mind reminded of now two very unpleasant events, and instead had read the letter. 

“What does it say?” Gwen had asked, after Merlin had finished it and was staring blankly into the distance. Arthur had come up and taken the letter, his face a stone mask. Like he’d been preparing himself for the worst. But…

“Lady Ygraine has been pulling together an army for us, with the help of her brothers,” Merlin had mumbled, his mind reeling. The letter hadn’t been long, in case it had been intercepted, and it had been written in Druid runes (which Arthur had figured out quickly after taking it). But it was clearly what the letter said. 

“What?!” The others had cried, eyes wide. Merlin had then explained, the best he could, trying hard to not feel too excited. Or terrified. 

Apparently, Arthur’s mother had been spending the last month and a half gathering support of the surrounding villages. It had been hard work, but they had been able to scrap together a group of about a thousand men and women, whom Tristan, her eldest brother, had taken to training, while Agravaine, her middle brother, had been dealing with strategy. It had been them who’d overtaken the sorcerer encampment, freeing the sorcerers trapped inside. They’d also made friends with various Druid camps, including the one the writer of the letter came from, encouraging them to join their cause. While the Druids were a peaceful bunch and wouldn’t fight, they had agreed to help with any injuries, the Druids excellent with healing magic. 

The letter had been sent to request their presence, so they could begin discussing plans on how to remove Uther from the throne. The army was currently stationed in the mountains north of Fayford, hidden by enchantments and charms. If Merlin sent back a message, via smoke bird, they would send out a representative around the time Merlin informed them they’d arrive. 

“Is that... safe?” Gwen had asked, looking a little apprehensive. Merlin understood her concerns. It seemed just a little too good to be true. Yes, Arthur’s mother had mentioned that she’d try and gather support for them while they did their thing, but so much support? It seemed insane. 

“Well, there is this postscript at the bottom,” Merlin had said, squinting at the words. The direct translation didn’t seem to make much sense, but… “it says ‘remember the gold lion.’ At least, I think it does. The translation seems off.”

Arthur had looked up at that, though, eyes wide. He’d frowned, before grinning. 

“Gold lion? You’re sure it says that?” Arthur had confirmed. When Merlin nodded, a touch confused, Arthur had laughed, shaking his head with a large grin. “It’s safe. That’s what Uncle Tristan called me when I was a child. His Golden Lion. Well, golden lion cub, but the last time I’d seen him he’d removed the ‘cub’ part. If Uncle Tristan is involved, then we should be safe.”

Merlin had been skeptical about that. After all, Arthur’s family didn’t have the best track record for not being, well… double crossers. But Arthur had been insistent. 

“I won’t lie. My uncles hated King Balinor’s rule. They likely have no love lost for the crown. But they both adore my mother. If she asked for their help, which I’m sure she did, they’d follow her. Plus, they’ve never liked my father, thinking him a coward for fleeing and leaving mother to raise me alone. And, of course, they adore me. But that goes without saying.”

Merlin had rolled his eyes at that, but had eventually agreed, almost reluctantly sending a smoke bird back with the message that they’d be there in two days’ time. They’d likely actually make it before then, since they were actually very close to the mountains, about five leagues away. but Merlin had wanted to have the luxury of being able to scope out the area beforehand. 

They had set out the next morning and had arrived at the mountains around midafternoon the following day. They were a bit early, so Merlin and Arthur went ahead and scoped the area out. 

“Well, there is definitely an enchantment there,” Merlin had muttered, sending a probe of his magic out, feeling the entrance of the camp, which was between two large mountains. He’d had to force Arthur from absentmindedly wandering away from the mountain, a strong repelling charm cast over the camp, to prevent anyone without magic from wandering across them. 

They’d returned back to their own camp, saying that it seemed legit enough. It was decided that they would send a small group out to meet whoever it was they’d be meeting, the others hiding in the trees, to either flee or attack, if things turned out wrong. Only Merlin and Arthur would meet them, they’d eventually agreed upon, which had caused disagreement in the group (mainly from Gwaine, who thought it was a stupid idea), but they’d eventually agreed. 

In the end, their worries had been for naught. 

“Mother!” Arthur had cried, the Lady Ygraine in clear view when Arthur and Merlin rounded the corner, meeting in the spot they’d decided upon. Arthur had rushed forward, not bothering with the plan they’d had, swooping his mother into a bear hug. Ygraine had laughed, holding her son tight, the pair not having had any contact in over a month, the longest they had ever gone without at least word from the other. 

Beside Ygraine had been a tall man, with light blond hair, and a chiseled jawline, mouth turned down into a scowl with a large scar bisecting his face, from left eyebrow to right chin, a whole section of his nose chipped off. He looked familiar, in a way that Merlin hadn’t been able to put his finger on until Arthur had rounded on the man and hugged him tight. 

“Uncle!” Arthur had claimed, making Merlin realize why the man looked similar. He looked like his younger sister, their regal facial features almost the same, outside of the scar. Arthur looked similar enough to him for the resemblance to be notable, as well. 

“Ah, my little golden lion. How you have grown,” the man had claimed, grinning as he clapped Arthur in the shoulder. The scar made his grin seem almost sinister, but he seemed pleasant enough. The family spoke quietly together, reunited at last. Merlin had felt awkward, shifting in his boots as he watched the family reunion. It only lasted about a minute, before Arthur turned behind him and gestured for Merlin to come over. Feeling nervous as all hell, for reasons he didn’t want to think on, Merlin had marched woodenly forward. 

“Uncle, this is Merlin. He was the prince, but I promise he’s not, well. Awful. Most of the times,” Arthur had added, smirking slightly at Merlin. Merlin had glared back, but didn’t dare do anything else as Arthur’s uncle- Tristan, Merlin assumed from the stories he’d been told- turned scrutinizing eyes on him. 

“So. You’re the boy my sister and nephew speak so highly of, hm?” The man had rumbled, voice low and eyes narrow. Merlin had felt his heart beat fast as he looked over at Arthur and Ygraine for help. While Arthur looked a hint nervous, Ygraine looked relaxed, and smiled at Merlin when he looked at her, nodding slightly. Assured that the woman didn’t think he’d be killed by her eldest brother, Merlin pasted on his most charming smile and bowed. Low, like he’d been instructed to bow to fellow rulers. 

“It is an honor to meet you, Sir. I’ve heard much about you.”

A very tense moment passed after that, Merlin straightening and trying his hardest not to shuffle nervously as Tristan De Bois stared at him, long and hard. Merlin held his head high and looked the man in the eye, like he’d been trained. After the moment passed, the man had smiled, very slightly, and had turned to Arthur. 

“You have good taste in men,” was all the man had said, before informing their companions to come out, that they would not be harmed there. Their group had come out of the woodworks, then, most of them grinning at the man. They all knew him, Merlin had realized. Well, of course they did. They’d known Arthur for years. Of course, they knew his family. He had no idea why the thought had bothered him, at the time. 

He hadn’t had long to dwell on it, at least, as they were quickly welcomed into the camp, wishing to get under cover as quick as possible. 

The camp itself was surprisingly well made. There were tents littered all around the valley, protected on most sides by the mountain range. There were countless tents, stretching on and on. Merlin had been very impressed at the setup, wondering how the hell they had managed so much in such a short amount of time. 

Arthur had actually asked, awe in his voice, to which his uncle had just laughed and clapped Arthur on the shoulder. 

“What, don’t tell me you thought those stories I told you were just that? I was one of the greatest knights of Camelot, I’ll have you know, boy. This was nothing.”

Soon after that Merlin was introduced to Arthur’s other uncle, a man who, if he’d not been told, Merlin would never had connected to his other siblings. 

Where Tristan and Ygraine were light and vibrant, Agravaine seemed steeped in darkness and shadow. His eyes were shifty, scrutinizing, hair oily and jet black. Merlin had hated the way the man had looked at him, like he was evaluating every part of him and found him… lacking. Oh, the man had smiled and acted polite, but Merlin was certain it was just that. An act. 

He’d been just fine around Arthur and his siblings, though, looking genuinely relieved to see his nephew, safe and sound. 

“Arthur, there you are. I take it you’ve been keeping safe?” 

Arthur had grinned and nodded, before sobering somewhat. 

“We have news to talk to you about. We discovered the artifact that father is using, to block and remove magic. More than that, however, we learned how to destroy it.”

That had gotten their attention. Agravaine had looked at Arthur with wide eyes, almost disbelieving. Tristan had just grinned, clapping Arthur on the shoulder, claiming that ‘that’s my boy!’ Arthur had blushed at the praise, shaking his head and gesturing to Merlin. Merlin had almost wished he hadn’t, as he didn’t like the appraising gazes that the man’s uncles shot at him. 

“I can’t take credit, I’m afraid. Merlin did all the work. I just fucked around.”

Merlin would have laughed at the words if he hadn’t been feeling sick to his stomach with how the two men who had practically raised Arthur stared at him. Agravaine frowned, looking like he’d bitten a lemon. 

“And you are sure, then, that the information is correct? Not that I’m doubting you, my prince! Simply, we must be sure, before we risk our lives. I’m sure you understand,” Agravaine had simpered, an oily smile on his lips. Merlin had hated it. It was like how the Court had always spoken to him, at home. He’d always hated the fake air Nobility had around him. Just be straightforward, for god’s sake. 

“Can you read Latin?” He’d asked, to which Agravaine had nodded tensely. He’d shrugged. “Then you can read the book yourself. The method of destroying the object is up for debate, if it can be destroyed at all, but I am fairly positive that it will work. And if it doesn’t, than nothing can, and we must work around that. But you needn’t call me ‘prince.’ I lost my title almost two months ago. Just call me Merlin.”

Agravaine had stared at him then, scrutinizing. Merlin looked calmly back, even as his heart raced. It was like taming a wild horse, he’d thought, almost hysterical. One must show no fear or even a hint of discontent. Like blood in the water, or something. 

Whatever it was that Agravaine saw on his face, it seemed that he’d approved, as he’d smiled slightly and nodded his head inappreciably. 

“Very well. Merlin.”

After that, their group had settled into the camp, Arthur’s uncles getting them all set up in various tents in the field. They’d have to share, as they didn’t have too many spare tents, but the men didn’t mind too much. Gwen got her own tent, as she was the only woman in their group, and Arthur and Merlin got their own as well, which they’d silently appreciated. Merlin didn’t like the way Arthur’s uncles and mother had looked at them when assigning them their tent, their eyes far too knowing for Merlin’s liking. But whatever. It was fine. 

Dinner had been surprisingly good, though Merlin realized after a moment that, duh, of course it was. Lady Ygraine had made it, for their small group alone. Dinner for the entire encampment was a task for the women (and a few men) who had taken it upon themselves to feed the would-be soldiers. 

It had been nice, honestly, sharing a meal with Arthur’s family. Arthur had looked relaxed for the first time in months, joking and laughing at things his uncles told him, sharing stories from their adventures at the castle. Arthur stayed away from the tales of the last several months, likely not wanting to ruin the light mood, but his uncles hadn’t pressed him. They’d just listened and asked questions where appropriate. Sometimes, one of them would turn to Merlin and ask for his take on the event, which Merlin would do, voice only slightly shaking with nerves. 

All in all... it had been good. Nice. Easy. Pleasant. Other synonyms for _not completely and utterly horrible_. But once the dinner ended…

“We have to discuss our battle plans,” Agravaine had muttered, Tristan sighing, before nodding his agreement. The two men, who had relaxed completely during dinner, were straight backed and serous again. Like the soldiers they were. Merlin had shared a wide-eyed look with Arthur, before nodding agreement. 

They had spoken for almost an hour, long after the sun set, and the others had gone to bed. Only he, Arthur, Agravaine and Tristan remained, Arthur’s uncles the clear leaders of their group. Their own rebellion, Merlin supposed, the thought ludicrous. How the tables had turned. 

Ygraine had come up at one point, helping explain what they had been doing over the past month. 

Apparently, a lot. Ygraine had never been an official member of court, as women were not allowed to hold such a position (which Merlin thought was mad. In his experience, women were much smarter and well-tempered than a man. They’d make perfect Court and Council members), but she knew a lot about politics. She’d married a knight of the highest standing, after all, and was the younger sister to another high standing knight, and a former royal advisor. She’d spent her life discussing politics and other various things. She’d been the mastermind behind the entire army, Tristan and Agravaine had proudly claimed. She’d spoken to the villages, had convinced them to join her in her crusade. Had praised Merlin highly, saying he had saved their village, that he was a hero. That he would free Albion, not Uther. 

It had made Merlin ache to hear it. He’d never been described as a hero, before. Not by someone who truly meant it, who knew him. It had humbled him. 

By the time they had ended their discussion, they had a flimsy plan for where to go next, but it was better than no plan. Security on the reform camps was tighter now. They’d not be able to get any more sorcerers freed, so they had to make do with what they had. Merlin had said he’d try to contact some Druid camps, but there was no guarantee they’d come. Druids were peaceful, he’d explained. Many wouldn’t want to be involved with war. 

They might have no choice, Agravaine had rejoined, which, well. Was fair. 

In the end, they had decided to instigate a battle on their own terms. Storming Camelot would be insanity, Agravaine had claimed, but bringing an army to a predetermined location and sending a bold message to Uther, inviting the man to fight… it might work. Uther was a proud man, Tristan had claimed, darkly. He’d fought alongside Uther for years, first as a knight and then as a brother. He knew the kind of man Uther was. He’d not turn down a fight that was issued. He was not a coward. 

Merlin ignored the slight jab at his own father (who he was trying hard not to think of, lest his pain be plain to see), and had instead nodded. He wasn’t sure if he agreed, but he’d take their word on it. They knew Uther better than he did, after all. And while there was the possibility Uther had changed, Tristan and Agravaine had highly doubted it. 

Arthur had brought up the idea of possibly doing as his father had, of taking over a town to ensure that his father would listen, but Tristan had shut that idea down immediately. 

“No. That would only add more variables to the plan. Innocent people would be put in the line of fire and that is not what we want. Your father will answer our call. The Knights Code demands it. Any challenge offered should be claimed and, once claimed, must be seen through. While he will not have to claim our challenge, Uther is too proud of a man to allow such a slight, especially when his hold on the kingdom is so tenuous, at the moment. No. He will come, and he will fight.”

The purpose of the fight was to hopefully give them the ability to find where he kept the chalice. While Arthur and Merlin, and the rest of their friends most like, fought Uther, a band of their army would infiltrate Camelot to see if they could find the chalice there. Ygraine had determined that she would lead that band, to the protestations of all four men. She’d silenced them with a glare. 

“This is something that I can do. Besides. If caught, I doubt my husband would have me sentenced to death. I can argue for leniency for us all.”

Her brothers had tried to convince her otherwise, but she refused to hear it. 

And so, it was decided. They still had details to iron out, battle strategy to discus, but by then it was getting too late to continue. Ygraine was the first to retire, bidding the men goodnight, with her brothers following soon after. Before leaving, Tristan had turned to Arthur and smiled. 

“If my sense of time is not deceiving me, I’d say that your birthday is coming up in the next few days, is it not, nephew mine?” 

Arthur had flushed at that but had nodded tentatively. 

“Yeah, but it’s not a big deal. We have so much to worry about, it’s not import-“

“Nonsense!” Agravaine had cried, grinning at his nephew. “We missed your last birthday, Arthur, but we will not miss this one. While celebrations will have to be mild, we will not ignore the date. This is not up for debate.”

With that, the men had wandered off, talking in hushed tones. Merlin couldn’t tell if it was about the upcoming battle, or about Arthur’s birthday. The way they spoke so seriously indicated the former, but the interspersed laughter indicated the latter. Hm. Who knew?

The following weeks had been a whirlwind of excitement and terror. Arthur’s birthday had been a nice reprieve from the whole thing, the group having the luxury of being able to become inebriated without too much risk of being attacked, so they had drunk wine and ale long into the early morning, their friends and family laughing heartily as they shared tales of epic quests. The hangover had been horrible, but it had been worth it to see his betrothed so happy. 

That had been awkward to explain, Merlin recalled, blushing. Arthur had told his mother, first, in private. Arthur had assured him, afterward, that his mother approved, that she’d cried tears of happiness when he told her of their plans. But Merlin had been nervous about it for hours, especially when Arthur had been gone for so long talking to her. Yes, their whole betrothal was more of a political thing than anything, a fact that Arthur knew (and yes, they had spoken about that), but it still meant something. To them both, he knew. Their whole relationship did.

It made his head whirl sometimes, realizing they actually did have plans to, should they win their war, get married. From spending a year and a half dancing around the other, to a couple months of a non-specified relationship, to the idea of marrying for political reasons... it was mad. Utterly, utterly mad. But also incredible and terrifying and amazing and Merlin had no idea how to deal with it, really, especially now that _Arthur was telling his mother, oh god, what if she hated him, he’d never had a mother before and what if he disappointed her or if she realized she hated him or-_

When Ygraine has come to him, requesting to talk to him in private, he’d been about ready to call the whole thing off and run into the night to become a hermit in the mountains, but she hadn’t looked angry. In fact, she looked almost… ecstatic and happy and overjoyed. Or whatever. 

Arthur had pushed him slightly, smirking like the bastard he was, so Merlin didn’t have time to go through with his frantic plan and had had to follow Ygraine, lest he completely make a fool of himself. 

In the end, the conversation had been... well, nice. Ygraine had smiled at him and had said that she approved, and that she was so glad to see her son so happy. Merlin had felt flabbergasted at the words. They were in the middle of a war. Could anyone really be considered ‘happy?’ But he hadn’t argued. He liked to think she was right. He certainly was happiest when he was around Arthur. There were even times that he smiled, despite the fact he didn’t feel like he had much to smile about those days. 

She had then hugged him, like she had back in Fayford, whispering that she would be proud to call him her son. That had made tears fill his eyes. The only woman who had ever come close to being like a mother to him had been Alice, and she’d been gone for over twelve years. And they’d never called it anything official, Merlin never even getting to tell the woman that he loved her. He regretted that. He regretted a lot of things. 

They had decided to not tell Arthur’s uncles, at least at the moment. Merlin had a feeling that they knew. Tristan certainly suspected something, the way he would smirk at him sometimes. 

Other than that, though, most of their time was spent planning the attack. Merlin would spend his days training the sorcerers, most of them magicians more than anything, some defense magic while Arthur would teach them how to use weapons. Tristan and their friends were helping teach the non-magic users battle techniques. They, somehow, had enough weapons for everyone, though not everyone got a sword. Some had crossbows or lances, for long-distance attacks. 

Arthur had asked his uncles where they got the weapons from, but they had just smirked and shrugged, claiming that it likely wasn’t something they should admit to in front of the prince. Merlin had felt annoyed by that but hadn’t pressed it. It wasn’t his problem. Let them keep their secrets. 

Before he had even known it, nearly a month and a half had passed since obtaining the book. Five weeks since they had figured out how to destroy the chalice. A month since they’d learned about Uther’s massacre and their subsequent discovery of Arthur’s mother and uncles’ army. 

And now here he was. Facing the upcoming war with panic and terror in his heart. 

He had woken that morning with his head spinning and the breath stolen from his chest. It was the day. He knew it was. 

They had decided a few days prior that today would be the day. Why today? Because they couldn’t wait any longer. Uther had publicly executed a quarter of the prisoners at the once second largest but now largest of the reform camps. He’d done it using his ‘cure,’ explaining to the public that any who died did so because magic had corrupted their hearts entirely. A person who was pure would survive the treatment, while someone who had been corrupted would surely perish. Ygraine had been pale faced when she’d heard, saying that they couldn’t wait any longer. They had to strike then and there. Tristan and Agravaine hadn’t agreed, saying they needed more time, but Ygraine had glared at them until they conceded. 

They weren’t going to win a traditional battle, she explained to Arthur and Merlin after, voice low. Even if they had a hundred more weeks. They simply didn’t have the numbers and never would. Uther had been building his army for decades, planning his attack since before Merlin had been born. Unless they wanted to take as much time, they would never be fully ready. All they had to do, Ygraine informed them, was distract her husband long enough for her and her band of warriors to infiltrate the castle and find the chalice. Give them long enough to find it and retrieve it. That was their only hope of winning the war. If they could destroy the chalice, they could use sorcery, which gave them an edge. 

Merlin didn’t like it. Neither did Arthur. They weren’t ready. Mentally or physically. There was so much that could go wrong, so much bad that could happen. But… if they kept waiting…

Would they ever be ready?

Was anyone ever ready for war? 

So here they were. Queasy stomached and shallow breathed, they stood on top of the cliff above their chosen battlefield, watching the army as it prepared below. 

How many would die, Merlin wondered? How many would fall and never get back up? How much needless death would occur for the sins of both their fathers? 

“Are you ready?” Arthur muttered, face pale but eyes hardening. Like a soldier. Or a world-weary knight, riding into battle one final time. Merlin laughed, the sound high pitched and keening. 

“No. Are you?”

Arthur smiled, the expression tight and taut on his face, eye sharp on the milling sea of people below. He shook his head sharply, inhaling a quick breath of air. 

“No. But we’ll have to be.”

And that they would. For as they watched, hearts pounding, they could see the movement in the far distance. Could hear the drums as they pounded, announcing the army that approached. From their vantage point, they could see the distant flashes of silver and red, gleaming in the noonday sun. 

It was time. 

Ready or not. 


	36. Run Boy Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Depictions of violence and war. 
> 
> _~~~Run boy run! The sun will be guiding you_  
>  _Run boy run! They're dying to stop you_  
>  _Run boy run! This race is a prophecy_  
>  _Run boy run! Break out from society_
> 
> _Tomorrow is another day_  
>  _And you won't have to hide away_  
>  _You'll be a man, boy!_  
>  _But for now, it's time to run, it's time to run!~~~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I'm not dead!! :-D 
> 
> I'm sorry for the long wait!!! I just knew that this chapter and the next should be released close to one another, since this chapter ends in a cliff hanger, ha. I don't remember much about writing this chapter, to be honest, only that it's overly dramatic, and ends on a cliff hanger, ha. 
> 
> Anyway, as to why I took so long to update... as I mentioned last chapter, I believe, I've started a new fic! And this fic... I swear, it was only supposed to be 100,000 words at most. I swear! But then... I just... lost control. And now it's over 300,000 words, with two long chapters that I'm halfway through writing, and at least 2 multi-chapter fics planned, and I'm like... oooof. I'm actually very proud of this fic, though. Like... I've found myself occasionally rereading parts of it because I actually am interested in what I wrote! As those of you who read my notes will know, this is a super unusual thing for me, and I'm honestly shocked at how much I don't hate this fic. I don't know if any of y'all know what Danganronpa is, but if you do and like Ishimondo, you might want to check it out when I begin posting it. I'm not sure if I'll post it once I finish the last chapters (which I'm currently writing), or if I'll wait until the first sequel is finished, but if anyone is interested, it should be up sometime before February ends, I would think. 
> 
> The title comes from the song Run Boy Run, by Woodkid. Fun fact, Bradley James mentioned he would listen to this song a lot while on set. It was a complete coincidence that this song was used here, though, since I wrote this chapter before I learned this fact, I think. I think he mentioned it during the Merlin quiz thing he did for Covid in April last year. I just looked it up, and yes, he did. Near the end, near the 2 hour mark, if anyone is curious, ha. It's titled "Bradley James Presents the Unofficial Merlin Quiz of the Lockdown!" if anyone wants to look that up. I'd link it, but I'm not feeling up to doing that, ha. I'm lazy. 
> 
> Also, fun fact! My 23rd birthday is next week! The 10th. :-D 
> 
> Enjoy!

As the sound of battle raged all around him, Arthur felt his heart pound and ache. Everywhere he looked there was anger and death. He breathed it. He lived it.

He was it. 

He could feel Merlin at his side, shaking at the battle that raged around them. They had yet to enter the fray, his uncles telling them that they should remain their last line of defense. That they should remain back. 

It made his stomach sick, however, to see the way the villagers they had managed to get on their side fought against trained soldiers. They had never tasted battle before, not like the men his father had brought. This wasn’t a battle, it was a slaughter. People Arthur had known for years, his village, were fighting for their lives while he stayed up here, on a cliff, hiding like a coward. 

“I can’t stay here,” he heard himself mutter, eyes wide, hand clutching his sword. Merlin let out a noise beside him but said nothing. He was staring, endlessly staring, at the sea of red below. Blood flowed into the valley as the screams of the dying wailed their final scream, before nothing. 

Across the way, high on a horse, sat his father. He was so far away that Arthur could have pretended it wasn’t him, but he knew. God, did he know. He could see how the sun, bright and shining despite the horror that took place below it, reflected off the crown the man had had crafted. It was tall and proud, glinting whenever he turned his head. Behind him billowed a cloak, blood red and angry. He couldn’t see the crest upon it, as far as he was, but he knew it was there. 

This was what Morgana had seen, Arthur realized, his stomach sick. The sorcerers were hurling spells at the army, trying desperately to get anything to work, but nothing did. The defensive spells Merlin had taught them did little to stop the unending assault. It would work for a second, before the soldiers just barreled right on through. As more and more people fell, Arthur couldn’t help the vomit that rose to his throat as he fell to his knees. 

“Shh, shh. I’m here. I-it’s okay. I’m here,” Merlin muttered, kneeling beside him as Arthur was sick, feeling like a fool. God. Kings couldn’t be sick after witnessing a battle. They had to be strong, composed. They couldn’t afford weakness like this. Christ. He could feel a warm hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, and as much as it comforted him, he hated it, too. He wasn’t a child. If he were to be king, one day, he’d have to be better than this. Even a joint king had to be ready to face battle. 

Slowly, Arthur stood again, his knees shaking and his throat stinging from the bile he’d just spewed. Merlin stood too, his eyes wide but firm as he looked at him. Arthur looked back. 

“I can’t stay here. We have to do something,” he repeated, looking down at the slaughter below. They had brought these people here. This was their plan. A distraction, so they could get the chalice that they didn’t even know was at the castle. A sacrifice to win a war. They may lose the battle but win the war, his uncles had said. But what of the people they lost? he had wanted to ask. _What of the men and women who lost their lives that day? The children who lost their parents? What of them?_

“What can we do? Your uncles said to stay here. That we were the last line of defense,” Merlin muttered, eyes still so very wide. And scared. He was clinging to his staff like it was a lifeline. And maybe it was. Maybe it was. 

Arthur let out a shaky breath, looking directly at his love. He tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. 

“I don’t know. But we have to do something. I can’t just stand here and watch as people die for me. Merlin… I can’t.”

Merlin looked at him, levelly, before nodding tightly. As scared as Merlin looked, he didn’t… he didn’t seem truly afraid. Not for himself, at least. _He’s a prince_ , Arthur thought, smiling slightly. He’d been born into battle, bred into it. This was not the first war he had seen. Probably not the first he had taken part in. He’d led their battle at Fayford with a steady mind, altering their battle plan within a moment’s notice. While he looked unwell, he didn’t look unprepared. Good. That was good. 

Ignoring the orders his uncles had given him, Arthur took out his sword and descended the cliff, ignoring the shouts of his family and friends. Merlin was right beside him, staff in one hand, sword in the other. It didn’t seem like it would be the best combination, but Merlin seemed to be handling it well. Arthur was wearing the chainmail he’d brought to Camelot so long ago, with some metal armor his uncles had fitted to him, while Merlin wore borrowed chainmail and leather armor. He looked good in it, Arthur privately thought, before they were in the midst of the action, chaos everywhere. 

God. Why had he thought this a good idea? There were dying villagers all around, though some soldiers were lying dead, too. There were just so many more living soldiers than villagers, their ragtag army had no hope of surviving long. Arthur raised his sword and blocked an attack that was coming for a nearby villager, while he had been distracted with another soldier. Arthur parried the blade and thrust, his body strumming with the heat of battle. Behind him he could hear Merlin shouting spells, pushing the army back as best he could. 

Arthur had no idea how much time passed as he fought, Merlin at his back, bodies lining the muddy grass below. The ground was slick with blood, rivers of it flowing through once green valleys. The stench of copper iron blood was thick in the air, suffocating him. This land was forever tainted, now. The blood of the damned would ruin this ground forever. 

But with each attack he parried… with each villager he protected… he felt like he was doing something. Helping. 

And then he took his first life. 

It was a young man, Arthur realized dimly, eyes impossibly wide as his thrust went off course. He had just meant to force the soldier to jump back, expected it. But the solider must have been new. Young. Younger than him, he felt, looking into wide, terrified eyes. Instead of jumping back, like an experienced fight would have, he stayed in place. Arthur had put too much force behind the blow, by accident, and watched in horror as the blade pierced the thin chainmail and buried itself deep into the chest of the young man, who could only stare, green eyes wide as the moon, as blood spurted out. The young man ( _boy, he was a boy_ ) fell slowly, so slowly, to his knees. 

And he moved no more. 

Arthur was frozen. Battle raged around him but all he could see was the boy ( ** _BOY_** ) dead ( ** _DEAD_** ) on the ground. Blood was pooling, mixing with the rest of the river, until Arthur didn’t know whose blood was who. How many had died that day? How many had died for the future that he and Merlin may or may not have been able to bring? For the hope of a united Albion, a Camelot destined for greatness, a future he had no idea if they could ever grant? 

Arthur had never taken a life before. Not like this, at least. He’d never sunk his blade into a chest, warm, red lifeblood gushing onto his hand, heart pounding as he caused another’s to cease entirely. He’d killed things before. Animals. Bears. He’d almost killed a unicorn, once, before he’d thought better of it. Even he, as thick headed and stupid as he could be, hadn’t been able to kill such an innocent creature. He’d never been as fanciful as Merlin, viewing life as the most sacred thing, connected to the world as much as Merlin was, but he wasn’t heartless. To slay an innocent life…

How many men had that boy killed, Arthur wondered, world frozen as he stared, unblinking, all noises ceased? What crime had he committed? Doing what he thought was right? Following Arthur’s father and the man’s promises of a better future? Did the boy have parents? Siblings? A wife? A lover? Was someone waiting, waiting, waiting for the boy, who would never come? 

Because he laid, dead on the ground, blood pooling together with the blood of his fallen compatriots and enemies. 

Because he had died, needlessly, senselessly, cruelly, for a cause he might not have understood. 

Because Arthur, heart pounding and breath stuttering, had killed him. 

“Arthur! For the love of god, snap out of it!”

Arthur started at that, realizing in an instant that while he had frozen, the world hadn’t. The battle was still raging, the sound deafening now that his ears were working, making him want to scream. 

Before he could do anything, he gasped as the hair on the back of his neck stood up, turning rapidly to see a soldier, blank faced and stoic, coming straight for him. Blade held high, about to cleave Arthur in two. Arthur could feel his blade in his hand, but he couldn’t find the strength to raise it. He just watched as the blade descended, his penance for taking a life. 

_So, this is how I die_ , he mused, the thought almost faraway and dreamlike. Not real. Not real. Never real. 

Before the sword could make contact, his own lifeblood mixing into the slurry down below, he heard a loud roar, before the man was blasted back, his head hitting a rock several feet away. Red blood pooled around his head, adding more to the river below, once stoic eyes unseeing. 

Dead. He was dead. 

“Oh, you idiot! Come on! Don’t you dare do this to me!” He heard a voice cry, before he was being pulled back, soldiers (not soldiers, villagers, sacrificial lambs led to the slaughter by him, him, him-) rushing forward to fight back the enemy. They barely held their swords correctly, but they fought with all they had in them protecting them.

For what?

“Arthur! Arthur, Arthur _please_ , snap out of it! I-I know how hard it is! I, fuck. I know that it’s so h-hard. But- but please. Please. Come back to me. W-we can do this later. I’ll hold you for hours as we cry, as we mourn. Mourn for them and for us and the sky and the moon. But we’re in the middle of a fucking battlefield and I can’t save you, so _please, Arthur_ , please snap out of it!” 

Arthur blinked as his eyes began to take in the sights around him again, his heart still pounding but the sound not deafening him anymore. His eyes fell on the man before him, bright blue eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. 

_Merlin_ , he thought, gasping in breath. 

It was then he remembered where he was, eyes blinking as he saw the battle raging around him. Christ, fuck. Merlin was right. He didn’t have time for this. 

Shaking his head, he nodded at Merlin, before he fell back into battle, his sword slashing and partying and defending. He made sure to not thrust too hard, though. While he was fighting for his life, he couldn’t… god. He couldn’t take another life. He couldn’t. Not here. Not against people, _his people_ , who were only trying to fight for a better future, like they all were. It wasn’t their fault they’d been fooled by the promises of a man too stricken by grief and anger, too bent on revenge, to be the king they all needed. To unite the lands, rather than tear them apart. 

As the battle raged on, Arthur would sometimes see familiar faces. His friends were somewhere in the battle, he supposed. They were supposed to remain up on the cliff, like his uncles and Merlin and he were supposed to, but they must have joined them at one point. Arthur distantly saw Lance fighting against a soldier, Percy carrying an injured party off the field. Soldier or villager, he didn’t know. He had no idea. Gwen was there, helping the Druids with the injured. He couldn’t see the rest, but he prayed to all the gods of all the religions he knew, begging for them to be alright. Pleading for mercy. 

They had been pushed back, Arthur knew. They were losing ground, their backs almost to the cliff face he’d once stood atop of. He couldn’t see his father, couldn’t see his uncles. All he saw was Merlin, who was right beside him, who refused to get lost in the din. 

“W-we’re losing,” he heard Merlin gasp, voice trembling as he breathed shakily. It was true. They were always going to lose, their thousand plus men no match for the army his father had cultivated over the decades. The loyalty he had inspired in those who had been beaten down and rejected. They’d been outnumbered five to one, had always expected a failure, but how long as it been? Minutes, hours, seconds? He didn’t know. His arm was aching, he noticed dimly, looking down and seeing red blood. When had that happened, he wondered? How had he been harmed? He hadn’t felt it. Still couldn’t feel it. All he felt was his heart pounding in his chest, his breath stuttering in his lungs. “We have to fall back. Arthur, we have to fall back.”

Yes. They did. They had no choice. All he could hope, as he looked at the sea of dead bodies floating on a river of blood, was that they had bought his mother enough time. That she and her ragtag band of villagers (for not a one was a soldier, they were nothing but children playing at war) had found the chalice and were running back to Kilgharrah, who Merlin had sent with them, to destroy it. If it could be destroyed. If the chalice was in the castle at all. 

“FALL BACK!” Arthur heard himself scream, his voice echoing over the raging battle. For a second, he feared it wasn’t enough, but he then saw the villagers listen, turning to flee, like they’d been told. “FALL BACK! WE SURRENDER!” 

More cries were echoed around the battlefield, Arthur hearing his uncles cry as well, calling out their surrender. Arthur worried for a second that it wouldn’t be enough, that his father’s men would not keep their end of the bargain and grant mercy to those who laid down their arms, that they’d not show enough honor to spare those who surrendered. 

But, after the longest moment of his life, he heard a voice call out, distant but steady. 

“ROUND UP THE PRISONERS! STOP FIGHTING!”

His father. Arthur knew it, knew his voice though he’d only heard it a handful of times. He watched as the soldiers sheathed their swords, grabbing the villagers who had surrendered, taking them prisoner. Arthur wanted to flee, to turn tail and run, but pride stayed his feet. He, in a way, had led these men and women (for yes, they had some women fighting for them, which he had hated but not refuted, or else they’d have not had nearly enough men) this day. It was his responsibility to face the consequences, however dire they might be. Merlin was stood beside him, eyes wide and heart visibly pounding, hands shaking as he held his staff. He threw it down a moment later when soldiers came to them, demanding they lay down their weapons or else taste their steel. Arthur felt numb as he tossed his sword aside as well, hands up as he knelt, the soldiers binding his wrists together with rope. It stung, but he said nothing as he was marched to the opposite side of the battlefield. 

They had lost. 

It was bound to happen. He had known it would happen. What other option was there? They’d never have won. They would never have obtained enough people. How they had convinced a thousand men and women to follow them was madness enough, he had felt. His mother had always been charismatic, he knew, but to ask so many to risk everything for a cause they barely understood... barley believed in… it was madness. They’d done all they could. This defeat was inevitable. He only hoped his friends and uncles were alright. Were alive. 

He felt Merlin’s magic swirling around him, swelling with each step they took towards the makeshift camp their enemy was setting up, taking the injured from both sides to get patched up. He saw no one he knew as he marched on, his heart pounding as he wondered where they were. If they were alright. If they were alive. He knew Merlin could break out of his bonds at any time, but also knew the man wouldn’t. Arthur didn’t know much about war, only what his uncles had taught him as a child (which, granted, was a lot, but it felt so distant here, now), but he did know that such a thing would negate the terms of their surrender, killing them all. Merlin wouldn’t do that. Not for nothing. 

It felt like an eternity later, but also no time at all before they had reached the line of hastily put up tents, which were teeming with injured men (and women), crying and screaming in pain. Arthur felt bile rise in his throat again, but valiantly swallowed it down. Showing weakness wouldn’t help him here. 

It didn’t take long until he and Merlin were brought to a bright red tent. Bright red with golden accents. He couldn’t see the side of the tent from where he stood, but he knew a golden dragon would be found there, boasting the identity of the man who laid in wait inside. His heart sped up impossibly faster, until he feared his heart would give out from the strain. He drew in a shaky breath and turned his eyes to Merlin. 

Merlin, who no longer looked terrified. Oh, Arthur could see it, hiding beneath the surface. Could see the terror in the way his eyes were framed, in the clench of his fist. But mostly, he looked determined. Defiant. His eyes were hard, and his teeth were bared. He held his head high and marched forward with as much grace as a man being frog-marched to what may have been his death could possibly contain. God. He looked incredible. Every inch the prince he was. The king he would (hopefully, one day, still) be. If they survived this. If his mother found the chalice and sent the notice in enough time for Merlin to strike. If. If. If. 

He was bolstered by the fearless look in his would-be lover’s eyes (and god, did he regret not claiming Merlin already, not fucking him slowly into the night, propriety be damned. What good did virtue do a person if they died before they could experience the pleasures of the flesh?). He straightened his back, pushed down his fear, and forced himself to look as fearless as Merlin looked. His heart still pounded, his palms still were slick with sweat (and blood, dear god, blood), but he hoped he looked composed. Looked fearless. 

He watched, eyes purposely disinterested, as one of the soldiers, a knight he figured, by the armor, went up to the tent and entered after calling out. Arthur tensed at the masculine voice that called back, familiar despite the infrequency with which he had heard it, knowing who was in that tent. 

He and Merlin remained outside the tent for a long minute, during which time other prisoners had been brought up beside him. Arthur didn’t know if he felt relief or not at the sight of his uncles, both staring blankly ahead, showing no fear. Tristan turned to look at him, however, and spared him a tight smile and nod of the head. Reassurance, he supposed. Agravaine had not been intended to join the battle, the man more a strategist than a soldier, but he supposed he must have joined the fray at some point, as his usually composed uncle looked tattered, blood splattered on his face. They looked fearsome, Arthur thought, swallowing thickly. Like Merlin did. He felt like the odd man out. The simple, farm boy peasant in the company of princes and knights. He wasn’t a warrior. A knight. He was a farmer, a servant. Expendable. How could he ever have thought he could be king? God. What a joke.

Finally, the minute passed, and the quartet was ushered in, shoved to their knees near the entrance. Uncle Tristan looked like he wanted to fight, growling at the soldier who pushed him, but he settled a second later, saving his death glare for the man who had come into their line of view, a swagger in his step. Arthur felt his heart constrict as heterochromatic eyes trailed uncaring over his uncles, before settling on him.

“Arthur. How good of you to join us. I suppose this prevents us from having to send a search party after you,” the man ( _his father_ , his inner voice whispered, but he’d never felt less kinship with anyone before) spoke, voice light and almost jovial. Like they were having a nice chat around a spot of tea. Not like his army had just slaughtered the villagers and sorcerers that Arthur had tried (and failed) to train. Not like they had just been at war mere minutes ago. Christ. “I suppose you were right, Morgana. He would come to us, in the end.”

Arthur started at the name, eyes wide as he tore his eyes from the man ( _his father_ ), landing on the pale face of his once dear sister. 

“Morgana,” he breathed, almost unable to help himself. He hadn’t seen her since that night, standing by their father’s side, smirking at the betrayal she had committed. Like she’d been proud of it. Was she proud, now? Proud of the lives she had helped taken? 

Morgana didn’t look at him, her eyes instead trained on the ground, unseeing. Her fists were clenched, her breath ragged, her head shaking slightly. She looked distraught. Arthur felt the age-old flash of protectiveness rise inside him, his heart stuttering to see the pain on his sister’s face. Yes, she had betrayed them, all of them, but… but, she still was his sister. He still loved her, despite it all. He always hated to see pain on her face, had always done everything in his power to see it go away once it was there. He wanted to say something, anything, but he found he couldn’t, his tongue tied and leaden in his mouth. 

“What do you want, Uther Pendragon? You’ll see no groveling from us. Kill us now if you must. We will not bow before the likes of you,” Uncle Tristan hissed, emphasizing his words by spitting at Uther‘s feet, the man ( _his father_ ) sneering at the sight. 

“You always were contrary, weren’t you, Tristan? Why do you fight me so? All I have done was liberate our people. I know you never liked me, but surely you must see the good in what I am doing? What love have you for sorcerers, anyway? Unless...” Uther paused, eyes sliding angrily over towards Merlin- who was still straight backed, even on his knees- a sneer rising on his aged face. “Unless, of course, you too are enchanted. Morgana!”

Arthur watched as his sister jolted, eyes wide as she stared at the man. Uther held out a hand, which she stared at blankly for a second, causing their father (her father, this man was no father of his, not with how he glared at his beloved, not with the lives he had taken... god. He could barely look at the man) to sigh in frustration. 

“Morgana. The cup.”

Arthur’s heart stuttered to a halt at the command, Morgana nodding sharply as she stuck her hand in the bag she had over her shoulder, pulling out the chalice they’d only seen in pictures. 

So. This whole thing had been worthless, he thought numbly. Of course, his father carried the chalice with him. Of course. 

He could hear Merlin gasp beside him, Arthur turning to see how his betrothed paled, eyes wide on the chalice before him. Merlin turned eyes on him, seeming to try and communicate with him with a glance alone. For a moment, Arthur didn’t understand, but then… he did. 

The words that Gaius had told him echoed in his head. How, if he drank the ‘cure,’ he would surely die. And suddenly… suddenly, he felt afraid. 

Death had been a possibility, while on the battlefield. Death had been all around him. He’d seen it dealt. He’d dealt it himself. But he had never expected to fear it, even in passing, from his father. Despite it all, despite all the man had done, he’d never feared for himself from the stubborn, too prideful man. 

He watched, eyes wary, as his father took the chalice from Morgana, holding it out for his four prisoners to see. If there was one good thing, Arthur thought sardonically, it was that they had figured it out. It was unmistakably the cup from the book. But it seemed, somehow… _more_ , in person. Arthur had only ever felt one person’s magic, that being the man’s beside him, but he swore that he could feel… well, _something_ radiating from the chalice. It felt weird, almost evil. Like it was unnatural. 

Merlin would speak about his feelings, sometimes. Not his… not like his emotions. But what he would sense, in the earth. In the world. He was so in tune with the universe, Arthur knew, that he could feel it sometimes. The magic that existed in every living thing. How some things could just feel…. _wrong_. Unnatural. Merlin would turn to him, sometimes, and ask if he felt it, too. Arthur never had _,_ though. He’d tried. Tried to understand what the man had tried to explain, how interconnected the whole world was. He’d tried to feel it. But he’d never understood. 

He did now. In a way. Looking at the chalice, at the runes that surrounded it, he could only feel the wrongness of the thing. Arthur had never understood magic. Had never really bothered to try. Merlin would babble about it, sometimes, and Arthur would listen, less of the times, but it had always been hard for him to wrap his head around. Magic. What it meant. What it was. 

The chalice was magic. That much he could tell. But it was _wrong_ magic. Evil magic. It seemed so innocent, so innocuous. Simple and clean. And yet it radiated evil to him. A sense of unnaturalness that was just… wrong. 

Merlin could feel it, too. He knew he did, saw the man’s shoulders tense as his eyes narrowed on the chalice, a scowl rising on his face. It wasn’t a look of fear or even anger. It was wariness, of a kind. Arthur felt he understood. He felt similar. 

“Here. My cure. This should rid you both of any enchantments that _sorcerer_ put on you,” Uther claimed, the word _sorcerer_ spat out, more like a curse than anything. Arthur watched as Uncle Tristan laughed, gnashing his teeth.

“Your cure won’t work on us. We already were against you before that boy showed up. Our sister called for our aid. And we, unlike some honorless dogs, came when called. After all, we never _abandoned_ her. Or her son,” Tristan spat, sneer forcing his old war injury to twist his face into something truly gruesome. Arthur had never feared his uncle, not after the man had been so soft and kind to him when he’d been but a boy, doing his best to be a good male role model for Arthur, despite his prolonged absences. Yet, in that moment, he understood why so many people seemed frightened of his uncle, at times. He could truly look fearsome if he desired. 

Uther jolted back, as if struck. His eyes were wide, and in that moment, he didn’t look like a king. Or an enemy. He looked… 

_He looked like a man who was grieving_ , Arthur thought, stomach clenched. Uther had a devastated look on his face, as he looked over at Arthur. At his son. Arthur had rejected familial ties with the man, but in that moment, he wondered if that was right of him. All the man, his father, had ever done was try and make things right, in his own way. Sure, it was wrong and what he did was vile, but… well, the man thought he was doing the right thing. Did that count for nothing?

“I never wanted to leave them. It was the last thing I had ever wanted. I loved Ygraine with all my heart, love her still. I have never taken another, not once. I have failed her before, I know, but I vowed to never do so again, and I have kept that vow. She has always been the one woman I loved more than life. I never would have left her, or our son, if the choice had been mine to make,” the man breathed, eyes intent on Arthur, a sort of longing in them that made Arthur ache fiercely inside. “I spent over twenty years searching for a way to end Balinor’s rule, all so that our family could be free again. I never wanted the crown, not since I was a young and foolish man. But I will do anything so that my family can be free. So that we no longer have to live in shame and fear. I don’t know if you can understand that, brother mine. But it is true.”

Uncle Tristan grew silent at that, though he never stopped glaring. Agravaine coughed, forcing Uther (his father... he had no idea how to address the man now) to turn icy eyes on him. Agravaine smiled, not the smile he gave his siblings or Arthur, which was kind, but the oily smile he gave those he could barely stand the presence of. Unlike his older brother, the errant knight, Agravaine had learned that, sometimes, diplomacy was the best method of handling things. 

“Perhaps then, brother, you might want to consider what your wife and son want, rather than what you, yourself, do. After all, we are here on their behalf. Why would they work so hard to protect this boy if they thought him evil? I have not known the young prince long, but I do not doubt his sincerity. He wishes for what you do, brother mine. Peace in Albion. And he seems to care a great deal for your son. Perhaps, then, it might... behoove you to listen to them, rather than yourself. Just this once.” 

Agravaine certainly had a way with words, Arthur thought, smiling unbidden. He hadn’t understood why his uncles seemed so keen on helping them, thinking it was only their familial ties to his mother and him that won their loyalty. But perhaps they had seen, like he had, that Merlin was more than his father, the late king. That he truly, deeply, wanted peace. For all, not just for some. Perhaps they, too, believed in him. Arthur looked over at the man he loved more than life itself and saw an awed look on his face. Like he’d noticed it, too. Good, Arthur thought, chest warm. He wanted the whole world to see Merlin as he did. Shining and bright and brilliant. Like he was meant to be. 

He was pulled from his tender thoughts by the growl his father (Uther? Father? Who knew?) let out, the man stalking forward and kneeling before Uncle Agravaine. Arthur sat beside his uncle, could see the anger and hatred in his father’s eyes. But also… he could see the fear. The pain. The hurt. Arthur felt sorry, in that moment, for the man his father wanted to be. For the man his father actually was. 

“Why, you ask? Because he is enchanting you. You, my wife, _my son_. Only my daughter escaped his spell, but even that was barely. Magic has no place in Camelot. It is a disease, a curse. It poisons the hearts of once great men. I knew Balinor once, decades ago. He’d helped me in ways I once thought I could never begin to repay. But he changed. His magic poisoned him from the inside out. Killing him gave me no pleasure, but sometimes that is what is needed of a weed. Pruning is sometimes the best course of action to take. Death is not my desire, but I will shear the world of the evil of magic, one way or another. Now, I will purge you of his influence over you. You will come to thank me, my brother. Morgana.”

Uther (whatever) stood, then, and went back to Arthur’s sister. Morgana had poured water into the chalice, her eyes distant as she did so. Uncle Agravaine opened his mouth to speak, but Uncle Tristan elbowed him. The time for talk was over. Uther wouldn’t listen. But maybe…

“Morgana,” Arthur called, voice beseeching. If anyone could understand, it was her. She’d always been such a caring child. She cared so deeply. This couldn’t be what she wanted. This couldn’t have been what she signed up for. She turned startled eyes on him, wide and green, glistening in the dim light streaming in from the entrance. She looked petrified, holding tight to the chalice that radiated such evil. His heart went out to her. “Morgana, stop this. You know this is madness. Is this what you want? A Camelot divided? Magic and might can coexist. Merlin and I have a plan, we can make it happen, Morgana, please-“

“That’s enough,” Uther demanded, eyes pained as he looked at his son. Arthur turned desperate eyes to him, trying to get him to understand. Uther paused, wavering, before his eyes shuttered and he looked away. Arthur watched as the man took the cup from Morgana, the girl staring with wide eyes. “His magic is clear within you. Once I free my brothers of his enchantment, I will free you, too. You will thank me, Arthur. I swear you will.”

_No, I won’t_ , he privately thought, but had no time to say anything as Uther strode forward, grabbing Uncle Tristan by the back of his hair, tilting his head back enough to force the liquid down his throat. Uncle Tristan gagged, coughing, but Uther seemed content. Then, before anyone could say anything, he moved on to Agravaine, repeating the process. Before he could move down the line, Arthur next, Merlin cried out. 

“No! Uther, King, please! Do not give Arthur that water. You don’t know what it will do to him!”

His father paused, eyes hard and harsh on Merlin, sneering angrily at the former prince. 

“Why? Afraid for your enchantment to be broken, for your only allies to turn on you? I pity you, sorcerer. The only way for you to gain allies is through trickery and evil. I will purge this world of your hatred and malice, if it is the last thing I do. And I will start here, with my son.”

Uther moved closer to him, then, reaching out to grab him. Arthur jerked back, eyes wide, wanting to speak but too tongue tied to do so. Gaius’s words echoed in his ear. 

“Please! Please, don’t give him the water! H-he, your son was born of magic! Gaius told us! If given your cure, that magic will be reversed and he will _die_. Is that what you want, Uther Pendragon?! Do you want to cause the death of your only son?!”

Arthur could only watch as his father hesitated, eyes darting over to Merlin briefly. Arthur almost let himself feel relief, when his father steeled himself, grabbing the back of his hair and pulling his head back. Arthur wanted to gasp, but knew doing so could, quite literally, be his death, so he forced his mouth closed, even as the bitter metal of the cup was forced against his lip. The water splashed out and it burned him, like a brand, but he didn’t gasp like he wanted, just tried to turn his head from the bruising grip his father had on his hair, his pain ignored as he desperately tried to fight what might be his death. Dimly he registered that his father was saying words, shouting. It took a second to comprehend the words. 

“Do not lie to me, sorcerer! Your mind games will not work on me! I will banish your poison from my son. I will free him from your grasp. You will watch as your wicked plan is destroyed. Guards, gag him!”

Arthur couldn’t see much more than the manic, angry eyes of his father, but he heard the scuffle a foot away, Merlin yelling, voice so desperate he ached inside. 

“No! No! Leave him alone! It’s me you have a problem with, Uther, not him! If, if I am enchanting him as you think, then kill me! Give me your cure, not him! Any enchantment I might have made will end with my death! Take me, not him! God, please!”

Arthur’s heart lurched at the desperate words, his mind racing at the implication. No… if Merlin was given the cure, he would surely die. As engrained as magic was in him… no. Arthur stopped struggling at the words, his eyes darting over to his beloved. Merlin was struggling against the guards, who were trying to gag him. Arthur couldn’t let Uther kill Merlin. He… god he couldn’t. He met Merlin’s eyes and shook his head. He tried to express with feeling alone what he couldn’t say. He knew what he had to do, he realized, breath stuttered. Maybe… maybe, if he were to drink the ‘cure’ and die, his father might think twice about his supposed ‘cure,’ maybe saving his beloved’s life.

He stared Merlin in the eyes, apology within them, hoping the man would understand. He could see the horror that rose in his beloved’s eyes, telling him that Merlin knew, _knew_ what he had planned to do. Before he could put his plans to deed, he heard Merlin scream, loud and powerful, the blast of too familiar power washing over him. The water was tossed over him, making him cough bitterly, though he did his best to not let any of the water touch his tongue. He had no idea how much was enough. He burned where the water coated him, making him gasp. 

His father had been blasted back, struggling to stand as he turned hate-filled eyes on Merlin, who had escaped his bonds and was trying to undo Arthur’s. Their weapons had been taken, but Merlin muttered a spell and his hands were free then. 

“W-we have to go. Arthur, Arthur,” Merlin demanded, his voice shaking and eyes wide. Arthur nodded, struggling to stand. It was as they were about to flee, Merlin already calling the Dragon with his ancient Dragon Language, that Arthur paused, eyes wide on the ground ahead of him. 

The chalice laid there, as innocuous and innocent as it had always looked. It was mere feet in front of him, halfway between him and his father, who was still struggling to stand, the guards doing the same. Morgana was lying on the ground, clutching her side, like she’d been hurt. Arthur couldn’t focus on her, though, his eyes darting back to the chalice. He could hear Merlin screaming, begging him to go, but he knew. He knew this was their only chance. If they didn’t get that chalice now, they never would have the chance to again. This was it. 

Now or never. 

With shaking breath, Arthur ignored his beloved and darted forward, falling to the ground as he grabbed desperately for the cup. Merlin screamed again, trying to pull at him, but Arthur wasn’t listening. His ears were pounding with the sound of his blood, his heart pounding in time with the terror that filled him. He fell to the ground, hitting it hard, as he scrambled for the damned thing that they had risked everything to get. 

“Morgana! Stop him!” He heard his father cry, his body tense as he waited for his sister to try something, his hands fumbling as he finally reached the cup and grasped it as tight as he could in his hands. But, to his surprise, it was not him that his sister went after, but Merlin, whose wide eyes were focused on the guards who were advancing on him, his magic lashing out but still doing nothing, now that the magic of the chalice had the time to adjust to Merlin’s defensive magic and counter it, too. Merlin screamed again, pushing the guards back a little, eyes wide as he frantically gestured for Arthur, when he was blasted with Morgana’s magic, his breath knocked out of him. Arthur turned and tried to stand but was prevented as he felt a hand grab his ankle, yanking him down. Merlin screamed again as Arthur fell back to the ground, scrambling to get his leg free. He looked down, eyes so wide it hurt, watching as his father grasped at him, on the ground as well as he tried to prevent Arthur from leaving. 

_“O drakon, fthengomai au se kalon su katerkheo deuro!"_ He heard Merlin cry, calling out to the Dragon once more, the words he used different from the ones he had the previous few times. He couldn’t focus on that, however, as his father struggled to grab him, Arthur trying frantically to escape but also not really wanting to hurt his father. His uncles were calling as well, but their words were lost in the din, Arthur crying as his father twisted his leg in his bid to grab the cup. 

There was noise everywhere as everyone tried to figure out what to do. The guards were back up again, bearing down on Merlin. Morgana was frozen, eyes wide as she looked at the chaos around her, like she had no idea what to do. Arthur called to her, begging. 

“Morgana! Morgana, help us, please, help us!” He cried, letting out another sound of pain as his father pried himself up his body, deceptively strong hands grappling with him. Arthur tried to fight back but he felt leaden, like his entire body had been doused in iron, encasing every joint and bone. He tried to move but he felt stuck. His father was grabbing the cup, Arthur trying hard to keep his grip on it, eyes wide and unblinking as he tried to plead to his sister, his father, to anyone who would listen. He knew he should have a calmer head, that a king should not allow panic to cloud his thoughts, but he wasn’t a king. He wasn’t even a prince. He was just Arthur, a simple farm boy turned servant who’d never had to deal with such a conflicted and terrifying moment before. 

“No! Morgana, stop that sorcerer! We can still have the future we discussed, the future we dreamed of. Don’t let their evil poison you! My daughter, listen to me!” His father called, practically growling, as he finally grabbed hold of the chalice and pulled as hard as he could. Despite his hours upon hours of training, Arthur was at a disadvantage, lying now on his back as his father born down atop him, using his bulk to press Arthur into the ground. Arthur cried out, aching as the cup was dragged from his fingers, a hint of the bitter liquid inside splashing and hitting his face. He gasped as he realized that there was still water in the cup, a fact that had not escaped his father’s notice. An almost manic and fanatical look overcame his father, then, as he pushed Arthur down, prying his mouth open with strong hands. 

“Morgana!” He screamed, as he bucked as hard as he could, trying to throw his father off him. Arthur had no idea where Merlin was, where his uncles were, but he could see Morgana, still frozen, gasping for air as she looked at the chaos around her. Her eyes met his, then, and he put all his heart and soul in the look as he tried so hard to resist the man who should have been his loving father, had things been different. Had the world been kinder, been more caring. Morgana hesitated for a second, before shaking her head. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur!” She cried, before shouting a spell and hitting something out of his range of vision. Someone, he realized with a gasp. Arthur cried at the same time he heard Merlin cry, a loud thump echoing through the tent as Morgana shook, sobs released from her chest as her arms trembled drastically, horror overcoming her face as she realized what she had done. Arthur didn’t have time to do or say anything, as scalding liquid hit his tongue, making him gag at the bitter, metallic taste. He tried to spit it out, but his father had slammed his mouth shut, narrowly missing making Arthur bite his tongue off. Arthur struggled, the liquid burning him, screaming as he tried to get his father off him, to get the man to _listen_ , for once, but his father was not budging. He could hear words in his ear, whispered and soft, and he tried to listen, to understand. 

“-you’ll see, my son, I did this for you. You’ll thank me. You’ll all thank me. Magic... magic is a curse. Our bane. We must fight it, my son. We must!” 

Arthur struggled against the words, shaking his head, but before he could say anything, he felt a hand hit his stomach, the other hand still clasped tight over his mouth. Arthur gasped, trying to breathe, but all he managed to do was choke as the water entered his throat, the bitter magic flowing through every part of him, burning him from the inside out. 

He screamed as it burned him, screamed as he felt everything he was, everything he’d ever been, get dismantled piece by bitter piece. The magic of the chalice was alight in his veins and he could feel it destroying everything he was. Everything he’d ever held dear. He could feel it attack the bond that resided in his heart and he screamed as it tried to destroy it. It couldn’t, though. The bond was as much a part of him as his very soul was. Without it, he would surely perish. He knew this as much as he knew anything else. He might not be able to wield magic, like Merlin could, but it flowed through him, nonetheless. It was as much part of him as it was any sorcerer, any magician. Arthur was born of magic and he would always remain of magic. 

It was who he was. 

Everything began to dim as the water flowed through him, attacking his very essence. He could distantly hear screaming, could feel as his father was thrown off him, could feel warm hands shaking him a second later, a voice begging him to come back, for the love of god, please come back. Arthur could only stare, chest heaving, at the man above him, his deep blue eyes an ocean of tears as he cried, wind blowing around them, rattling their bones. Arthur tried to lift his hand, to offer some measure of comfort to the man above him, the man he loved more than life itself, but he couldn’t lift it far enough, his hand hovering in the air before it fell, dead, to the ground. 

The last sight Arthur saw before he saw nothing more was blue eyes flashing with gold, an anguished face letting out a scream of pure sorrow, so palpable that he could taste it as it hung in the air. 

_I’m sorry, Merlin_ , he thought, chest heaving for air that it could not get. _I’m so, so sorry_.

And then, he thought no more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! If anyone wants spoilers for the next chapter, and if Arthur is okay or not, feel free to message me, I don't mind spoiling it, ha. 
> 
> Hopefully I will be posting the next chapter soon! I'll try and aim for my birthday (the 10th) or around then at least. :-) Only 2 more left!!


	37. The Night We Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _~~~When the night was full of terrors  
>  And your eyes were filled with tears  
> When you had not touched me yet  
> Oh, take me back to the night we met_
> 
> _I had all and then most of you  
>  Some and now none of you  
> Take me back to the night we met  
> I don't know what I'm supposed to do  
> Haunted by the ghost of you  
> Take me back to the night we met~~~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh. So, I was a bit off in my estimated time to post this chapter. At least I got it up relatively quick! Ha...
> 
> So. This is pretty much the last chapter for the main storyline, while next chapter deals with tying up loose ends, I believe. All I really remember about this chapter is that it is overdramatic as all hell, ha. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from the song The Night We Met, by Lord Huron. Definitely recommend the song if you've not heard it, it's great. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was funny, Merlin thought, as he stared down, down, down. Funny, funny, so funny. Here he stood (knelt, he was kneeling, wasn’t that _funny_?), body fine, alive, breathing. The world was still turning. Sound still existed. Light still shone. 

And Arthur was dead. Dead, as is no longer alive. As in the past tense of alive. As in his lungs were no longer breathing, his eyes had dulled over and were sightless and glassy, his heart, once so strong and vibrant, no longer beat in time with his. 

He was dead. 

Arthur was dead. 

And Merlin…

Merlin was alive. 

Wasn’t it funny? 

Merlin couldn’t breathe. He knew he could if he wanted. He wasn’t dead, though everything inside him screamed he was. All he could do was stare, stare, stare, insides clenched tight. He didn’t know why. Why he felt anything at all. He was alive, but why? He couldn’t feel anything. Everything was frozen around him, his heart slowing with the passage of time, and he existed in this one moment, one second, and he’d exist here for all eternity until he could find the strength to go and battle the gods, the triple goddess, who took the one thing that mattered most, until he could scream and rage at the world like was his right. 

He’d never find that strength. All he could do was stare, his heart and lungs frozen, at the dead, dead, _dead_ eyes of the one person who meant more than this entire world. The one person he’d have done anything to save, even if it meant damning his people to a life of servitude and cruelty. That could be fixed. Someone who wasn’t him could go and save his people if they so chose. It didn’t have to be him who did it, why was it always him? Why? Why? 

He couldn’t fix this. Death was permanent. Merlin had known that since he was an infant, screaming for the mother he’d felt get taken from him before her time, screaming for days in his cot, no one able to calm him. He’d known that since he was a child, crying tears over the baby bird he’d failed to save, childish hands clutching the dead body of the tiny bird, barely given a chance to live. He’d known it since he was a man, looking into the vacant eyes of his father and king, once full of life until they became a parody of their former self, before losing life entirely. 

Death was permanent. Death could not be fixed. For all his magic, for all his strength, he could not bring back the dead. Necromancy was a forbidden magic, for it always went wrong. For a life to be granted, a life must first be taken. Sacrifice was needed, but not just any sacrifice. The death of a child, taken before their time, the more powerful their potential the better. Only that could undo the decision the universe had made, to take the life of someone they’d claimed. And the life returned was never quite the life that they had once been, not truly.

Merlin was frozen, time slowed to a stop, and he could only stare at the man he loved. The man he’d do anything for. Would he kill a child for him? Would he turn his back on all he’d ever believed in to save this man? Merlin looked at Arthur, dead not for a second, and wondered just what he’d be willing to do if it brought him his beloved back. 

Merlin didn’t do it consciously, that much he knew, because one second, he’d been staring down at the body (body, dear god, it was a body, wasn’t it? Not alive, not Arthur. A _body_ ) and the next he was clutching it, hand curled tightly on the chainmail that had done nothing to protect him from the poison his own father had forced into his mouth, the man fighting and screaming but powerless to protect himself. 

“Wake up,” he heard a voice rasp, the voice the most broken and desolate thing he’d ever heard. He wondered for a moment who had spoken, as time was frozen, before the voice sounded again. “You’re not allowed to die. We were going to get married. We were going to rule together. You promised me I wouldn’t be alone. Y-y-you…”

Oh. It was him, he realized, trying to gasp but no air coming in. His chest had constricted so much that no air could reach his lungs. They were dead, dead, and dead, and dead, and dead, and dead, and, and, and-

“Wake up,” he pleaded, his voice wrong and wrong and wrong. It wasn’t him who was speaking, it was a stranger who had climbed inside him and somehow knew how to speak. Merlin didn’t know how to speak, he didn’t know anything. He’d thought he’d known what pain was, had thought he’d felt it when his father had died, but he’d known nothing. He’d known nothing of pain, because if what he felt now was _pain_... No one knew what pain was. If they did, they’d surely end their own life before having the chance to feel the pain he currently felt.

In fact, it was laughable to call it _pain_. There should be a stronger word for it. Anguish, agony, devastation, heartbreak, torment, torture… none of it was enough. None of it explained the aching, empty feeling that filled him as he sat there, the world still frozen around him, the world not existing at all as he clung to the body ( _body, body, body, body_ ) of the man he had once made plans to marry. Of the man he needed most desperately to survive. 

What would he do to get this man back?

Would he commit the ultimate sin?

“W-wake _up_ ,” the voice pled again, shaking, and broken, and _wrong, wrong, wrong_. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t his voice. It wasn’t him. He spoke anyway. “I-I-I’ll do anything, Arthur. I’ll never insult you again. I-I’ll… I’ll give you everything. You-you can-you can have the _world_ , I’ll give it to you, I’ll get it, just come back. Be a-a-alive again. Be-“

He cut off, his chest heaving as pain rattled through it. He could feel his magic swirling within him, around him, the world frozen as his magic tried to give him the ability to process, to find a way to reverse time, to fix what had been done. But people couldn’t have time reversed on them. People weren’t objects. People were people and when people broke, they didn’t come back. They couldn’t be put together again. 

When people broke-

They died. 

A sob escaped him, as he buried his head in the too still chest of the body of the man of the body of the man of the _body_ -

“Why,” he rasped, clinging so tight to the too still chest, shaking so hard he thought the world would collapse in on him. “W-why?”!

He didn’t know who he was asking. The only person he cared to listen to was dead. 

Dead. 

Dead. 

Dead. 

Dead

Dead

De-

The word that was repeating in his head was interrupted when he felt it. It… what was it? He didn’t know. But it was… it was an it. It must be, he’d felt it. A thing. A movement. A movement? A thing. What was it? He’d felt it. He’d had to have felt it, or else he wouldn’t be lying here now, eyes wide and unseeing, contemplating the _it_ he had felt. 

There it was again. The _it_ , the _thing_ , the _something_ , the weird thing that _was not quite right_ but was _not quite wrong_. It cut through his fog with its differentness. What was it, he wondered, heart pounding where before it had laid silent and still and dead? What was he feeling, what was he experiencing, why was he feeling anything when the man he loved was dead, dead, dead, _dead_ -

Dead?

Merlin gasped as he felt the thing again. Time was still frozen, but it was starting to move, slowly, now. He could feel it move, not even his magic strong enough to freeze time indefinitely. As time began to move, slow, so slow, he could feel that something as it screamed at it. As it reached for him. As it pleaded with him. 

‘ _I’m here! I’m here!’_ it cried, pounding against Merlin’s head. ‘ _I’m here! I’m here! Notice me! Feel me! Save me! I’m here!’_

Merlin could only stare at the unmoving chest beneath him and didn’t dare to think as he felt his magic, almost against his will, probe the body ( _body, body_ ) beneath him. He hadn’t before, terrified of what he’d find, but he did it now, despite himself. 

And he felt-

He felt-

He _felt_ -

Merlin gasped as he felt something _push back_ against him. It was faint. Barely there. But something… something was still there, in the body (body… Arthur. Arthur. _Arthu_ r), begging to be let out. 

But no. No, no, no. He couldn’t let it out. It was trapped, but that was good. That was-

Merlin couldn’t hear his own voice as he spoke spell after spell, hands shaking as he clutched the metal mail under his cheek, breath still frozen in his chest even as the world began moving at a snail’s pace, people just beginning to wake around him. But he couldn’t bother to notice them. He couldn’t bother to notice anything. Only the spark he’d felt, clinging, clinging, clinging to life, as stubborn as the man he adored more than was healthy. 

He poured his magic into the body, even as the most intense feeling of _wrongness_ hit him, making everything in him scream in pain. But he didn’t care, his entire being was in pain, his entire soul crying out in sorrow at what he’d lost, what he’d still lose if he didn’t- if he weren’t-

He poured his magic into the body below him. He poured everything he was, everything he’d ever be, everything he’d ever longed for. He poured and he poured, and he poured some more, mind frozen, heart stopped, world moving but barely. 

And just when he thought he had nothing more to give-

Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly have any more of himself left-

Just when he thought he’d been too weak to do the most important thing he’d ever done-

He felt it. 

He didn’t even comprehend what the _it_ he was feeling this time was, until he felt movement under his cheek, weak and fragile, but there. His heart began to pound, a crescendoing wave inside his body as he gasped air that refused to go down. The edges of his vision were turning black, which helped no one, so he forced himself to breathe, even as it burned everything in him. 

As he took in the first breath of air, time suddenly caught up to him, the wave of noise nearly deafening him. 

“Arthur!” He heard voices cry, all of them sounding equally devastated, but he didn’t care. He had eyes only for the barely there motion of the body (no, not body, person, he was a person, he was _Arthur, not a body, not lifeless, not_ -)

Dead. He wasn’t-

Dead. Arthur wasn’t-

Dead, he thought, watching the chest move. Dead bodies didn’t breathe. Dead bodies just lied there. Lifeless and cold and nothing. 

Dead men didn’t breathe. 

“He’s dead,” he heard a lifeless voice call, a grief filling it that, before this moment, Merlin had never known. But he knew the grief. Knew what it tasted like. More than the person who that voice belonged to knew it, at least. 

“No,” another voice called, so foreign he didn’t know what creature it could possibly belong to. When it sounded again, he realized it was his own voice, his chest rumbling even though he had no idea what he was saying. His ears were still swimming as he looked desperately for the proof of life he’d seen, the chest not expanding again like it should. It-where was- the breath, he’d seen- where was-

_There_ , he noticed, the chest moving, a heart beating weakly in a too still chest, a heart that fought so valiantly against the poison attacking it, the bond he could feel get weaker by the second fighting so very, very hard. So hard. 

“He’s not dead,” the foreign-familiar voice called, so tattered it didn’t even sound human. “But he will be.”

And that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? He’d felt a sign of life, Arthur struggling to live, to listen to the demands of his beloved. Of his bonded. But it was barely there, waxing and waning. He was alive, yes. 

But if Merlin didn’t fix him, he would die. And this time, there would be no _it_ that would bring him back. 

“You killed him,” he heard that other voice call, anger filling it as a body approached him. He could feel it come close, but he didn’t have time for such insignificant things. He had his beloved to save. Little men with agendas mattered not at all to him. His magic lashed out and forced the approaching body down, down, down. He could feel that evil magic as it repelled him, but he didn’t care. He was stronger than it. He had to be. 

“No, I didn’t. You did, Uther Pendragon. With your hate and your wickedness. You’ve damned your son. I told you. You didn’t listen. You’re a fool.”

The words were his, and yet they weren’t. His voice sounded wrong, like he wasn’t speaking, and yet he was. There was a whisper in it, another voice that called, impossibly old and aged. A third voice was mixed in, a child, so young it made him ache. It was him, but not him. He didn’t have time to think about it as he gathered Arthur up and shuddered as he held the man that he loved more than life, than the world, feeling that spark and knowing what he had to do. But to do it meant he had to leave Arthur’s side and he didn’t want that. God, he didn’t want that. 

“N-no. You did this, sorcerer, with your magic! You k-killed him, not me!” 

The rage he felt from the pathetic man was near palpable. But it didn’t matter to Merlin. He didn’t even spare the man a glance as his eyes glowed gold, the sound of a body hitting the floor the only indication that his spell hit its mark. Not dead, no, but knocked out. He didn’t have time for this. 

He stood, legs shaking, as he found the cup that had caused this entire thing. That had created such pain, such evil, such malice. He grabbed it with shaking hands, eyes unseeing as he stared blankly ahead. 

Holding it… it felt so wrong. So unnatural. Worse than when he’d seen Uther carrying it, bringing it to the lips of his everything. It burned him like a brand as he turned it, this way and that. It looked so innocuous and innocent for the terrible evil it possessed. 

It had to be destroyed. He knew that, as he stared at it. He could still feel the too still chest of Arthur beneath him and he shuddered to imagine feeling that again. He could hear a groan behind him, forcing him to turn, heart pounding. He didn’t know if he felt disappointment when he saw Arthur still lying still as the grave on the ground. Disappointment meant that he’d had hope in the first place. 

Instead, dispassionate eyes slid over to the man who was struggling to stand, the fiercest glare on his face, a look of pure hatred. Merlin felt nothing as the man took out his sword, breathing heavily as he shook with his malice. 

“You cursed him,” Uther Pendragon hissed, eyes narrowed and full of hate. Merlin shook his head, too numb to feel anything as he stared at the pathetic man, trembling, and blaming all his faults on another. Because magic must be to blame, right? Not his own inadequacy. His own failings. 

“No, Uther Pendragon. I did not. You did.”

His voice was still wrong, and it made Uther’s eyes widen, naked fear on his aged face, before he pushed it down, an emotionless mask coming into place. 

“No. Everything that I did, I did for him. I did not cause this, sorcerer. Your evil did. Your magic. You’ve killed him!”

Merlin growled as Uther charged at him, his eyes flashing gold as he threw the sword out of the man’s hands, forcing Uther to his knees. The man stared up at him with wide, hate-filled eyes, terror swimming within them, though the man was clearly trying to hide it. 

“I would never hurt him. I love him, more than life itself. He is my other half, as I am his. We were destined for each other long before any of us were even born. He belongs to me, and I belong to him. You tried to take him from me. You try even now. I can save him. I know how. But each second you delay me is a second in which he steps closer to the grave. Do you want that, Uther Pendragon? Do you want to cause the death of your only son?”

He didn’t know where the words were coming from. They weren’t coming from him, his brain. He couldn’t think, let alone formulate the words that were coming, brimming with power he didn’t even know he had. Uther was wide eyed as he stared at him before his eyes darted to Arthur. 

“You... you can save him?” Uther questioned. Merlin just nodded, tensely. He could. He would. Even if he had to burn the entire world to the ground, he would save Arthur. He had to. Uther gasped in a breath, shaking as he stared at his son. “How?”

Merlin looked down at the cup he held in his hands, seeing it but not seeing it. Everything felt like he was underwater, like the world was wrong and foreign. He didn’t like it. He couldn’t stop it. It was everything now.

“I must destroy this,” the foreign voice within him said, Merlin’s hand shaking as he grasped the burning metal tightly. He had no idea if the thing was truly burning him or if he was just imagining it. He truly didn’t know. Uther gasped, forcing dispassionate eyes to fall back to the man before him. He was wasting time. Each second that passed was one step closer to Arthur’s grave. Yet he couldn’t move. He could only stare as Uther’s face contorted, so many emotions running through them at once. 

“No… you are a liar. You just want to ruin everything I’ve created. Everything I’ve done. N-no,” Uther gasped, though there was doubt and uncertainty lining that aging face, eyes glued to the still too still form of Arthur. Merlin couldn’t look away, couldn’t look at that still body, lest he lose all strength entirely. He had a plan. The dragon was on his way, Merlin could feel it. He had to get out to meet the dragon, but this moment seemed important. He’d lost his father. He didn’t want Arthur to go through the same thing, no matter what the man had done. He didn’t want to have to kill Uther.

He would, though. If the man tried to stop him, by god, he would. 

“I am not lying. Look into yourself, you’ll see the truth. I don’t want to fight you. Please don’t make me.”

Uther said nothing. He just continued to stare, eyes on the almost unmoving chest of his son. Movement was there, Merlin knew it. He could feel it. He’d know if that breath stopped. He’d know. 

“Why should I trust you? You have no reason to care for my son. He is but a servant to you. Magicless. What need do you have for Arthur?”

Merlin could only stare at the man, his words sounding ridiculous in his head. What need did he have for Arthur? Stupid question. Obvious. All the need. He didn’t know if he’d be able to survive without the man. He knew that might sound ridiculous, overdramatic, but it was the truth. Without Arthur… well, what did he have? Who was he, without his other half? Nothing, he felt. Nothing at all. 

Uther wouldn’t understand that. Merlin didn’t know the man well, but he had a feeling he was the traditional sort of man, the kind who wouldn’t approve of a man loving another man. Who wouldn’t understand it. But still, Merlin wouldn’t lie. Not now. Not about Arthur. 

“Arthur,” Merlin stressed, feeling his hands shake with the emotion he felt inside, his entire body aching with the feeling, “is everything to me. From the moment I met him he was so much more than just a simple peasant, or later a servant. He is my friend, my best friend, and I would do anything to save his life. I owe him more than you can ever know, and I would do anything to save him. We, we have a plan, to save this kingdom. To make it a fair and just land, for all, not just a few. I know you will never believe me, but I am not like my father. I do not share his fear. And Arthur… Arthur does not share your hate. We will make this kingdom prosperous once again. We will triumph over hatred and fear. But I cannot do it without him. I need him, more than you can possibly know. Now, I will save him, regardless of what you say or what you think. Please, don’t make me hurt you. Arthur needs his father. He adores you, even still. So please. Let me save him.”

He felt strangely empty after he had finished speaking, like he’d given everything over in his words. All his emotions, his fear, his love. His adoration. He poured it, all of it, into his words. And they were his words, his own voice speaking for the first time since Arthur… since Arthur. It was his words given to the King. No one else’s. 

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was working so hard to persuade Uther, other than he knew that, without magic, he could not disable the current king. Arthur’s father. He’d have to fight and waste precious time. He’d win, of that he had no doubt. When the life of the person you loved the most was on the line, you always won. But at what cost? What cost? 

He could only stare with bated breath, the seconds ticking by, as Uther kept his eyes glued to his only son. The dragon was getting closer and closer by the second. Arthur’s life was fading. Merlin was running out of time. He didn’t want to harm Uther or his men, but he’d have Kilgharrah burn the entire encampment to the ground if it meant they got the chance to save Arthur. Normal dragon fire may not harm them, but Kilgharrah wasn’t a normal dragon. Who knew what his fire could wrought? At least it would give him an advantage, enough of a surprise to give him time to escape. 

But that wasn’t ideal. He’d more than likely kill the men and women he’d brought to this battle if he did such a thing, even if the king’s soldiers were protected. He had no desire to kill or be the cause of the death of any more people today. Enough blood had been shed on these now hallowed grounds. The land would never recover, he feared. He’d walked on old war sites before, on lands where the greatest of battles had once taken place. Even centuries later, he could still taste the death in the air, the blood never truly washing away from the ground. Camelot reeked of it. He didn’t want to add to the horrors of this day. He truly, truly didn’t. 

But he would do it. If there were no other option, if his words had failed? If it was the choice between more needless death, or the death of Arthur?

Well. 

There was no question. 

“Is there no other way to save him?” Uther asked, voice brittle. He didn’t sound angry, though. Or disbelieving. He just sounded… 

Heartbroken. 

Merlin swallowed and shook his head slowly. He didn’t know if Uther could see, but he did it more for himself than anyone else, anyway. 

“No. We’ve looked. Arthur was born of magic. He is bound to me, through Fate. By destiny. He may not be able to wield it, but it flows through him as surely as it flows through me. If we do not destroy the runes on this cup, if we do not destroy its magic… he will die. And Camelot will die with him.”

Uther looked at him at that, a halfhearted sneer on his face. But he looked… tired. Wavering. 

“Because you will destroy it.”

Merlin smiled, no humor in the gesture, his eyes dead and cold. 

“I do not know what I would do, should Arthur die. My power is great but has always been so instinctual. If he were to die… I have no idea what my power would do. What I’d let it do. If he dies, I die with him. What would remain in my body would no longer be me. Not even by half. I think you know better than any man what grief will turn a person into. How it can change them, even against their will.” 

Merlin saw the moment understanding passed on Uther’s face, along with a multitude of other emotions. Disgust was there, Merlin knew, as well as what might have been horror and confusion. But eventually… eventually his expression settled. Merlin had no idea what it had settled on, as Uther turned away, breathing heavy. Kilgharrah was almost there. Merlin was almost out of time. But he hesitated. This moment was fragile. Raw. Arthur’s life was ticking away with every second wasted, but…

If he could wait…

If he could change Uther’s mind…

If.

If. 

_If_.

Well. 

Another second ticked away as Uther breathed heavily. Merlin let out a shaky breath, shaking his head. 

“We’ve not much time,” he stressed, looking down at Arthur, who’d gone deathly pale. Morgana was beside him, now, stroking his hair with tears running unchecked down her cheek. Agravaine and Tristan were beside her, both looking breathless with their worry. Tristan was poised to fight, even though his wrists were still bound. He’d offer a distraction if Merlin were proven to need it. Good. He had no idea what Uther would do. 

Another second passed. 

“Please.”

His word lingered in the air, desperation thick in it. Everything in him was aching as he stared at the proud back of the current king. The father of the man he loved most. He still wore his cape, the bright red billowing in the wind that blew through the ruined tent. Merlin hadn’t bothered paying attention to his surroundings, the detail not important at the moment, but he knew he’d destroyed the entire thing with his magic. Sun was shining through the tears he’d created in the fabric. It was a sunny and bright May afternoon. Funny. He thought it should be raining. 

“Go.”

Merlin could only stare as the almost inaudible word echoed in the silence. Merlin was almost certain he’d heard wrong, the word sounding so forced and strained. It couldn’t… his words couldn’t have worked… Uther couldn’t have… 

Another second passed. Uther looked up, eyes furious, but also full of the deepest pain. A tear rolled down his cheek. A tear of pure regret. Oh, what power such a tear could have. The tears of a king, true and deeply mourning, had powers none without magic could ever know. He had no need for such a thing, but it made him feel awed to see, nonetheless. Uther lashed out with his arms, like he meant to strike Merlin, but he did not take a step closer. If Merlin had any inkling that Uther even had an ounce of magic, he’d be afraid the man meant to curse him. But, given who the man was, he highly doubted it. He just watched as Uther bellowed, voice cracking with grief, but also anguish and rage at the death of over twenty years of planning. Merlin almost felt sorry for the man. 

“Go! I will not say it a third time! But know this, warlock,” Uther hissed, chest heaving despite not having moved an inch. The man shuddered, looking back at his son, naked pain on the aging face. It made Merlin’s chest tighten to see. “Know this. If he dies… if you are untrue in what you say and are lying to me… not even death will prevent me from destroying everything you have ever held dear. You will rue the day that you ever crossed Uther Pendragon. I promise you that.”

Gasping, Merlin nodded, taking one look at Arthur, a wry smile rising on his face as a tear fell from his eyes. 

“Well. I suppose there is one thing you’ve got right, King Uther,” he claimed, seeing Uther jolt slightly in his peripheral. His mirthless smile widened as more tears filled his eyes. “Should he die, you will indeed have taken everything I’ve ever held dear.”

Merlin didn’t bother to wait for Uther to reply. He’d wasted enough time as it was. Kilgharrah was nearly there, and Merlin had to meet him. Nary three minutes had passed since the water had passed Arthur’s lips, but already he was almost gone. Merlin could feel himself weaken more and more as each second passed, all of his magic being funneled into Arthur to keep him alive. The spark within his chest, where the bond between them lived, was fading so rapidly. It was stubborn, as stubborn as the two men who were connected through it, but even the most stubborn of mules couldn’t defeat death, if it came calling. Destiny was one thing. A path that could, potentially, be followed. But it was only one path on a long and winding road. Anything could happen. Destiny, while strong, could always fail. Arthur could die. Merlin knew this. But he’d do everything within (and outside of) his power to prevent such a fate from happening. 

Arthur wasn’t allowed to die. 

Merlin could hear himself call to the Dragon again, even though he knew the beast had heard him. It was all he could do, and he heard the call from within him, that the Dragon had heard and was coming. 

It was right as Merlin had run into the clearing, which was still slick with red blood, though soldiers were slowly clearing away the dead, that he spotted Kilgharrah in the distance, a tiny speck growing larger and larger as the second passed. Dragons could accelerate to blinding speeds if they so chose. When he’d been atop the beast, it had purposely gone slower, to protect its passengers. But Merlin knew the speed of a dragon well. The knowledge, it was Within him, always. 

He could sense the soldiers around him shifting, eyeing him nervously, but luckily none tried to stop him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t care. As long as they didn’t bother him, he had no reason to worry about them. 

When Kilgharrah landed, an alarm was sounded through the camp, but Merlin paid it no mind. He could hear shouting, but nothing mattered as the one hope he had had landed before him, bowing its head low in greeting. 

“I have the cup,” Merlin breathed, brandishing the damned thing like the horror it was. Kilgharrah hummed, golden eyes trained on the thing. The Dragon tilted his head towards the ground, a few feet away. 

“Place it down, young warlock. I cannot promise what will happen. The events of this day are murky, even to me. I have no idea if what you ask of me is possible.”

“Please, Kilgharrah, you must try. Arthur drank, unwillingly, from the chalice and is dying. If you don’t destroy it…” Merlin trailed off, tears building back up in his eyes as he gasped, shaking his head sharply. “Well. You have to destroy it. There is no other option.”

Kilgharrah looked grim as he nodded, though he said not a word. Merlin did as he was previously asked and put the cup on the ground, far enough away from all bodies, living or dead, that they’d not get engulfed in the flame. He then stepped back and watched with wary eyes as Kilgharrah settled his limbs and breathed white hot fire onto the, now glowing, cup. 

Seconds disguised as centuries passed as Merlin watched the Dragon blow his fire as strong and as hot as he could. The cup was glowing bright red, molten, and Merlin held his breath as he watched with hopeful eyes. A second passed. Another second passed. And another. And another. 

It was when fifteen seconds had passed that Kilgharrah stopped, forcing Merlin to gasp bitterly. 

For while Kilgharrah had put as much energy and power into his fire as he could, still the cup stood. 

No…

“I… I am sorry, young warlock. The magic that binds the cup is too powerful for me. I… I cannot destroy it.”

Merlin could hear nothing as the blood pounded in his ears, eyes unseeing of all but the eternally damned cup. The chalice that had taken everything from him. His father. His kingdom. 

His heart. 

“No,” he muttered, tears still so thick in his eyes but refusing to overflow. He almost wanted them to, but they couldn’t. He was frozen, dead inside. He was shaking his head, he realized, rapid and bruising. It hurt, but he didn’t care. “No, no, no. There must be something we can do. You’re the Great Dragon. You must... fuck. You must know _something_. Tell me!”

He screamed the last words, heart stuttering as he tried to gasp for breath that wasn’t coming. It was like when he’d seen Arthur fall, but a million times worse. Now, he had no hope. Now, he had no plan. Now…

He had no future. 

“I am truly sorry, Merlin. If I could stop it-“

“Then do so!” He screamed, his magic gathering around him like a fog. It was sluggish, as most of it was being used for Arthur, so he stole some from the earth around him. From the bodies still cooling on the ground from the useless, pointless battle. Doing such was a sin, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even notice he was doing, truth be told. He wouldn’t care even if he did. He looked up at the Dragon, naked pain in his eyes, pleading. “Please, Greet Dragon, the might Kilgharrah, please find a way to destroy that cup. I will do anything you ask. Grant any wish you could possibly desire. Anything you want I can and will give. Just help me. I ca- fuck. I can’t lose him. I can’t, Kilgharrah. I _can’t_.”

And that much was true. Without Arthur… without Arthur, he was nothing. One half of a broken coin, one half of a worthless destiny. One half of a once whole heart. One half of a joint soul. One half of a complete set. He was nothing, alone. Just one half. His greatness only came from his proximity to Arthur. His match. His missing piece. He needed Arthur more than he needed air to breathe, or water to drink. To lose him…

No. 

It was unthinkable. 

The Dragon looked at him with pity in those aged eyes. Eyes that had seen so much, much that had already happened, but much that yet had occurred. The Dragon shook his head, but Merlin refused to listen. His magic, stolen or not, shrouded around him, darkness marring the once beautiful weather. He didn’t care. No sun would shine ever again should Arthur perish. That much, he knew. Merlin scrambled to his feet and he pointed a finger at the horrible beast, death stare on the thing as his chest heaved. 

“You listen, and you listen good, Dragon. What my father did to you will be nothing in comparison to what I will do if you don’t help me here. I will not play your mind games. I will not follow your rules. Find a way to destroy that cup. Find a way to heal Arthur. Or I will rain fire and hell upon these lands until the day Arthur risen again. No place will be safe from my pain. I promise you that, Dragon. I promise you that.”

His voice had gone wrong again, his Not Voice saying words he barely understood but knew were true. If Arthur died…

Merlin died too. 

Even if not in body, but in spirit. 

So much power, so much rage… where could it go but out? He didn’t want needless death. But if the universe took the one person that he needed most away from him, he’d raze the whole thing to the ground. Let the earth restore itself. He’d lost so much in his young life. His mother. His father. Alice. Will. The friends he’d never had a chance to make. He’d lost everything. 

He couldn’t lose Arthur, too. Refused. 

He could see the offense in the Dragon’s eyes, could see his rage at being addressed as such, but Merlin refused to back down. He set his jaw and lifted his chin up high, even as his lips wobbled and his body shook. He was one second away from breaking down. It was only sheer force of will that kept him standing. 

The Dragon stared for a second, before sighing, body relaxing from the offensive position it had previously been in. The Dragon shook his head and sighed. 

“I don’t know what more I can do. My fire, my magic, is not strong enough to destroy the chalice alone. Perhaps...” the Dragon trailed off there, looking to the side. Merlin was about to angrily prompt him when the Dragon hummed, sounding far too casual for the urgency the moment called for. Bastard. “I wonder. Where is your staff, young one? The one your betrothed had me enchant for you, before carelessly letting it fall into the wrong hands?”

Merlin blinked, not comprehending the words for a second. He’d been prepared to scream, to be angry, but all he currently felt was… well, _confused_. But also… maybe… hopeful. 

Heart pounding, Merlin summoned the staff with nary a thought, the thing flying into his open hand like it was a magnet. He said nothing as he stared at the Dragon, who had hummed again. 

“I cannot destroy the cup alone, young warlock. And neither could you, should you try. But perhaps… well. Perhaps, if we pooled our efforts together…” 

The Dragon trailed off, but Merlin understood his meaning. His heart in his throat, he could do little more than nod as he turned to the chalice sitting carelessly nearby, still slightly red from the previous attempt at its destruction. Shaking only slightly, he nodded again at the Dragon, indicating he was ready. He could barely feel Arthur, now, the man slipping far away with each second that passed. If this didn’t work…

Well. 

He watched as the Dragon blew his white-hot flame at the cup, blue fire pouring out at the intensity. Merlin was, for a moment, stunned into awe, before he kicked himself and pointed his staff at the chalice, no words needed as his magic took over. 

It seemed several eternities passed as he poured everything he was, everything he’d ever been and ever would be, into the stream of magic. He could feel himself flaying, fracturing, so he stole more energy from the world around him, the grass draining of all life as he took and took and took. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He was doing everything he could to defeat that eternally damned object. No amount of plant death he gave them would be worse than the destruction he’d rain down should this fail, and he lost… god. He couldn’t think of it. 

But the seconds passed. More and more and more. And still, even as he grew tired, weary, the thing. Would. Not. Break. 

Merlin screamed, the sound echoing across the field, across all of Camelot probably, all his rage and grief and pain flowing through him as he screamed and screamed and screamed. 

But it. Still. Wasn’t. Enough. 

“ ** _NO_**!!!!” He demanded, eyes liquid gold as he looked to the sky, the heavens dull and almost pitch black, despite the fact it was midday. He’d steal the sun from the earth if he must. He’d do anything. Anything at all.

“Clyw fi Dduwiesau, a chlyw fi'n dda. Achub ei fywyd neu bydd y byd hwn yn darfod. Byddwch chi'n achub ei fywyd neu bydd yr holl fywyd yn dod i ben.*”

He could feel the insolent words rise within him, the angry curse releasing itself almost against his will. He knew threatening creatures as powerful as the Goddesses was neigh on suicide, but he didn’t care. Let him die, if only Arthur should live. It was a risk he was willing to take. 

Nothing happened, good or bad, making Merlin scream again. He could feel the last of his magic fading, but the cup still stood, withstanding the white-hot heat of a dragon’s breath and the all-encompassing rage of the world’s most powerful warlock. Whatever had created that chalice had never intended the thing to be destroyed. He was nearly sobbing as he felt the last of his magic swell within him, fighting desperately to keep going. To keep holding on. Arthur was so distant now he almost feared that he’d truly lost him, and all had been for naught. He used up the last bit of his magic, needing to do everything he could to save his love.

But then….

Then…

He cried as he felt the warmth that had once filled his heart die, suddenly, gone, gone, gone. No…

“NO!!!” Merlin screamed, before putting the last of his strength, all he had, into destroying the cup. Even if all were lost, even if he had nothing to return to, he’d destroy that wretched thing if it were the last thing he ever did. And it just might be. Sorcerers were not supposed to use all of their magic. Doing so tore into their very souls, taking the magic that was bound to them from birth and bastardizing it until it was gone, the soul fading as the magic that made it was taken. But Merlin didn’t care. Let him die. He was already dead. 

His eyes were blurry as he poured all he was out, every last drop. He had no idea what was happening, sobs thick in his chest, arms shaking so hard he could barely hold the staff that still was in his hands. 

It was as he’d reached the very last drop within him, the last ounce of magic he had to his name, that he heard the Dragon roar. Gasping, Merlin felt his magic shut off, that last drop remaining, though it burned within him, like it was punishing him for abusing it so. Like it wanted him to suffer, like he had made it suffer. He didn’t care. He _didn’t care_! All he cared about was if that chalice was gone for good. If the thing that took his life from him had been destroyed as well. 

Weak and weary, Merlin collapsed to the ground, face pressed into the blood-soaked earth, staining him forever. But it didn’t matter. He tilted his head, exhaustion blooming within him as he shifted his gaze up, up, up, until his neck was stretched, and he could see the cup that had mocked him so carelessly. So cruelly. So relentlessly. 

He could hear noises above him, a voice talking, loud and clear, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered at all. 

Because sitting, where a simple yet deadly chalice once lied, sat a hunk of molten metal, nothing more than a bitter puddle on the dying earth. 

He didn’t have energy to celebrate the fact, or even feel a shred of happiness. He was empty inside, the space his bond once had been empty and rotten, like dust. While he’d succeeded in his task, he was too late. 

Arthur had died. 

With that thought, Merlin closed his eyes for what he hoped would be his final time. 

He’d done enough. 

Now? Now he rested. 

Or he would have. Had a wave of energy not filled him, then, coaxing him back from the brink of endlessness, the sweet embrace of death that was his only possible solace now. Ripped from him as cruelly as Arthur… He gasped, tears leaking from his eyes, as he rose from his position of lying on the ground, his hands under him as he bowed low on all fours, knees and palms pressed hard into the bloody muck. He shuddered and gasped as his heart, despite everything, still beat on. Even though the life that had once filled it was gone. How cruel Fate was, wasn’t she?

“I am sorry, but death is not your destiny today, little Warlock,” the Dragon muttered, sounding, strangely, tired. Exhausted. Worn down. He didn’t even know dragons could sound like that, let alone Great ones. He almost wanted to laugh. But he’d never laugh again. He was sure of that. His laughter had been stolen from him. Like his love had. 

“You should have let me die,” he rasped, tears still leaking from his eyes as sobs heaved his body. He could feel the Dragon’s magic as it coursed through him, not much, but enough to replenish the magic he’d stolen from his soul. It would be a long while yet until his magic was good enough to be used, longer than the day or two it usually took, with as much as he’d channeled. He’d almost lost himself in his magic entirely. That wasn’t an easy fix. Good. He wanted to hurt. To hurt and hurt and hurt. Nothing was real, nothing was right. Life had no meaning. No meaning at all. 

“I could not do that, young warlock. Your destiny is not yet over. You have much you still must do if Albion is to be saved.”

Merlin shook his head, still shaking on all fours, sobs too powerful for him to do anything else. Eventually he was able to bite out bitter words. 

“How? Arthur’s gone.”

And he was. He was. Merlin couldn’t feel him, anymore. Couldn’t feel much of anything anymore. Nothing existed. Nothing mattered. 

He didn’t matter. 

The Dragon, damned creature that he was, had the audacity to fucking _chuckle_. Merlin swore that as soon as he was better, if he ever got better, he’d kill that beast with his bare hands. Slowly and painfully. 

“Perhaps you should check the validity of your words before believing in them so surely, young one. After all, how can you be certain?”

Merlin’s heart stopped at the words, his shudders intensifying with the meaning. What? But… no…

“O-o-our bond. I… it’s not… I can’t… _feel_ it, I can’t…” Merlin gasped, shaking so hard he was surprised any words came out. He was likely in shock, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gaius whispered within him. The Dragon hummed, the chuckles gone as what sounded almost like _sympathy_ took its place. But it couldn’t be. The Dragon felt nothing for anyone. He was a bastard like that. 

“You used up almost all your magic, Merlin. Had I not gifted you part of what little I have left, you’d surely have perished yourself. I doubt you could feel much of anything at all, lest of all a bond. That doesn’t mean it is gone, not for good.”

If Merlin couldn’t breathe before, he’d forgotten what air had ever felt like at the words. The Dragon... but no, he’d felt the bond break before, he’d… but... but he had been using so much magic. Pouring so much into it. From his very soul. Maybe the bond was just buried. Maybe-

Maybe Arthur-

God, he couldn’t think it. Couldn’t hope it. Merlin could only scramble up without a thought, almost falling a second later as he swayed drastically. He could feel nothing but determination within himself, however, as he clutched the staff that he still, stubbornly, held. He couldn’t believe the thoughts, the hope, until he’d seen proof with his eyes. He didn’t dare hope. He couldn’t. Hope was the deadliest of all creatures when it had every chance of being proven false. 

The trip to the broken red tent took eons, Merlin felt. He passed more and more tents and soldiers, but they meant nothing. Nothing at all. He could hear moans and yells of pain, but nothing mattered as he limped towards the tent he searched for. Even as his borrowed strength waned, even as he wanted nothing more than to collapse and never get up again, he knew he couldn’t. He had to see. He had to _know_. He had to. 

Finally, his heart still as the grave as it clenched so horribly, Merlin was stood before the tattered tent he’d destroyed not so long ago, and yet ages before. So much had happened. So much. So very, very much. He almost didn’t want to enter. 

But Merlin wasn’t a coward. 

He entered the tent. 

“-miracle, Arthur, my son,” he heard a voice mutter, his chest clenched so hard as he turned his head to where he’d last seen the man he adored. The man who owned his heart, fully and truly. 

His eyes met bright blue. 

His chest flooded with warmth at the sight, the feeling that had been missing for the last infinity finally slotting itself back in place, Merlin gasping as he stumbled forward, almost toppling to the ground as he lost his grip on his staff. The staff clattered to the floor, but he’d never cared less for an object. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. 

Nothing but bright blue eyes, shining with love and adoration and such sheer _relief_ that he couldn’t help the helpless laugh that bubbled out of his chest.

“Arthur,” he breathed, legs moving forward despite his brain not telling them to. He saw Arthur shuffle, pushing his father (who’d been embracing the man a moment before, Merlin noted distantly) and crawling his way to where Merlin stood, eyes almost as disbelieving as Merlin felt. Merlin fell to his knees when Arthur was within arm’s length of him, arms outstretched for the person he most longed to hold. 

“Merlin,” Arthur returned, voice breathless, arms wrapping tight around Merlin’s waist as he clung with bitter desperation to his other half. Merlin didn’t mind. He was clinging just as hard, just as desperate, just as overjoyed. 

God. 

Arthur was alive. 

Arthur was _alive_.

“I thought you had died,” he heard a voice say. It took him a second to realize that the voice hadn’t been his own. He felt confused, until Arthur continued. “I was dying. I felt that. I tried to fight it, but it was too strong. But then I felt you and your power as it flowed through me. It helped me fight, helped me hold on. Helped me stay alive. Without it, I know I would have died. But then… then, it was gone. Completely. Before the darkness could overcome me entirely, though, my eyes were open, and I was breathing. Father hugged me, b-but… it was wrong. I didn’t realize at first, but then I realized. Our bond. It was gone. And Merlin… fuck. Never do that again. Whatever you did. It’s not worth it. I could have _lost_ you. Don’t do that ever again. Promise me you won’t.”

Merlin shook his head, even as the bond pressed on him tight. It was still weak, Merlin’s power waned almost to nothing. But it was there. _It was there_.

“No. No, I cannot do that. I would do anything to save you, Arthur. My life is nothing without you. Meaningless. I would gladly die if it meant you could live. I will not apologize for that, nor can I promise to not do it again. I would. I always, always would.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head as he pulled back. Merlin had no time to complain as he felt a warm, slightly sweaty forehead press against his, sweet breath (that smelled anything but sweet, but because it was _Arthur_ , it was perfect) fanning over his face. Merlin shifted so his entire body, from chest to knees, was pressed against the man before him, pressed as tightly together as was possible while kneeling. 

“And what of me? You expect me to live while you die? Don’t be a pillock, Merlin. When I woke but the bond was gone… don’t. Don’t do that. I would rather die than know you’d given your life for mine. You hear me? Please, Merlin. Please.”

It hurt Merlin to hear the desperation in the man’s voice, his usually strong and steady tenor high and trembling with his fear. Merlin could see tears gathering in oceanic eyes, before a single one fell. Merlin couldn’t help the way he leaned forward, kissing the tear away before it could travel far. More fell, and he kissed them away, too. The salt was bitter on his tongue, but he didn’t care. He’d almost drowned in his own tears. He could handle the taste of Arthur’s. 

“Shh, shh. Don’t worry, my love. The solution is simple.” Arthur gave him a quizzical look at that, so Merlin responded with the widest grin he could manage, his heart still so frozen from his residual panic. “Neither of us can die, then.”

Arthur laughed, the sound husky and strained, but so goddamn beautiful that Merlin couldn’t help but laugh too. He felt some tears fall from his eyes, but before they could fall too far, he felt warm lips press against his face, kissing away his tears, a reverse of the previous minute. It made Merlin laughed again, so overjoyed he had no idea what to do. 

So, he did the only thing that felt natural. 

Arthur’s lips were chapped from his brief stint with death, but they were as warm as always when they met his, pressed so tightly to him that he would never forget the imprint they left. The kiss was more pressure than anything, a desperate mashing of lips together, but it was good, nonetheless. The two moved against each other with a helpless energy, Merlin feeling fingers tangle into his hair as a warm hand pressed against his hip, pulling him flush to the warm body before him, somehow getting impossibly closer. His own hands were tangling into sweaty, impossibly tangled hair, holding as tight as he dared, needing proof. He could feel a hardness against his groin that had nothing to do with the chainmail Arthur still wore, making him moan softly against chapped lips. God, how he wanted this man. 

The sound of an awkward clearing of a throat interrupted the pair, forcing them to pull back as they gasped, faces both bright red as they remembered their audience. But, strangely, Merlin felt no shame, as he remained pressed tight to his love, refusing to part from him for even a second. A wave of exhaustion overcame him, then, Merlin blinking hard at the sensation. Oh, right. He was still exhausted from his magical deluge from earlier. Huh. He had forgotten. 

“Ah, nephew mine, as charming as this reunion is, perhaps such acts can wait until you are in more, ah, _private_ quarters?” 

Merlin almost wasn’t able to place the voice, but then he looked up and saw an awkward looking Agravaine, making him remember how he knew the voice. Ah. Arthur’s uncle. He’d have felt embarrassed, but he honestly didn’t care. He thought Arthur shared his sentiment, as he only grinned happily, eyes shining with relief, even as he shrugged with faux sheepishness. 

“Sorry, Uncle. You know how it is,” was all Arthur said, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s once more, eyes wide as they took in every inch of Merlin’s own blue eyes. Merlin didn’t complain. He just contently stared back, memorizing the way the light reflected in those too blue eyes. Incredible. That man… incredible. 

Another voice laughed, but Merlin didn’t pay it any mind, as captivated as he was. He did listen to the voice (which he placed much quicker as Arthur’s other uncle, Tristan) spoke. 

“Ah, my nephew, I fear my brother doesn’t. Never had himself a lover, for long. Too fickle, ickle Agravaine was. He couldn’t possibly understand.”

The sound of a fleshy object hitting chainmail sounded then. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened, especially with the indignant ‘hey!’ sounded a second later. Merlin couldn’t help the smile, which was answered by Arthur, though neither looked away. It was like if they looked away, the other would disappear. Maybe that was the case. He wouldn’t put it passed the world for doing something so heinous to him. 

“Like you’d know any better, brother. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a girl.”

“Aye, what a wonder. But have you seen me with a man? Aha, brother dear, then I still have more experience than you.” 

Huh. Well, that was interesting. Or would have been, had Merlin cared about anything at all other than the warm hand that was working its way down his side, slipping under his shirt like a tease. He could see the smirk Arthur gave him, eyes half lidded and heady. Oh, Christ. If they had been alone at that moment… 

“You two are alright with this?” A voice hissed, making both Merlin and Arthur freeze, the warm hand glued to his side as those blue eyes widened again, looking frightened. Merlin understood. His throat had gone dry, but he refused to back away from his beloved. Not even for a second. Not even for an instant. Not for anything. 

“Ah, brother dear. You have much to learn about the world. Come, we shall speak. Niece in law, you come as well. Let the young lovers reunite in peace, hm?”

Merlin had never been more grateful for Arthur’s Uncle Tristan than in that moment. The man had always intimidated him, made him feel as if he was being judged. And maybe he had been. And maybe, just maybe, the verdict was a positive one. Well. At least not all of Arthur’s male family hated him. That was good. 

It took a moment, the air frozen, before they heard feet storming out of the ruined tent, other feet following shortly after. The last pair, footsteps lighter than the others, paused before leaving. Merlin didn’t look, but Arthur did, his eyes darting away for a brief second to meet ones that belonged to another person his beloved loved. 

“I’m sorry,” a soft, feminine voice called, the sound wrecked and broken. Arthur could say or do nothing, though, before the feet kept moving and exited the tent, as well. Arthur sighed, shaky and hard, his hand shaking as it trailed up Merlin’s side. 

“Well. What a day this has been, huh?” Arthur muttered, eyes drooping with an exhaustion Merlin could relate to. As much as he wanted to continue their previous actions, his lips aching to feel that warmth against his, he knew they were both too tired for anything else. They had both almost died, had both expended their stores of magic. They needed to rest and relax before they could even dream of continuing their actions. 

Soon, though, he promised himself. Soon he would have Arthur and know what he sounded like when he came. Would know his taste. He vowed it. 

“Come, Arthur. Let’s get some rest. I think we could both do with some rest,” he mumbled, eyes blinking as he tried to keep awake. Arthur just nodded, looking around the tent quickly. Merlin did as well. Their eyes landed on the thin, but comfortable looking cot at the same time. Arthur hummed, reluctantly peeling himself away to crawl over to the thing, no energy to stand, Merlin following suit. He didn’t let go of Merlin’s hand, though. It made crawling awkward, but Merlin didn’t care. Not one goddamn bit. In fact… it was kind of utterly perfect. 

The cot was not built for two grown men, even one as gangly as Merlin, but it was fine. They managed to get themselves situated, Merlin lying practically on top of Arthur. The man didn’t seem to care, though. In fact, he just wrapped an arm around Merlin and held on tight. Like he never intended on letting go. 

Good. 

Merlin didn’t want him to. 

“What a day, hm?” Arthur repeated, voice impossibly tired. A lazy hand was dragging itself through his hair, making him want to purr like a feline. 

“Yeah. My betrothed almost died on me. Like a prat,” he mumbled against a warm, breathing, moving chest. The chest moved up and down abruptly with the sharp laugh Arthur gave, making Merlin give out a sleepy noise of complaint. Arthur chuckled softly, his other hand running up and down Merlin’s side, like he was trying to make sure he was actually _there_. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll be sure not to almost die next time.”

“You make sure you do that,” Merlin stated, more awake now. He was still exhausted, but the residual adrenaline and fear coursing through him made it hard to fully relax. Arthur sighed, before a warm kiss was pressed to the top of his head. Merlin hummed at the sensation, body relaxing again despite himself. 

“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do my best to never do that again. I don’t fancy dying, much.” Despite the casual words, Arthur’s tone was anything but. He sounded impossibly fond, but also serious. Like he meant it. Merlin smiled, snuggling closer. Arthur hummed, kissing the top of his head again. “Now, get some sleep, my dearest love. We’ll talk later. And no nightmares, you hear? Sleep well and deeply. Regain your strength. You’ll need it.”

Merlin felt his eyes droop even more, closed tight as another wave of exhaustion hit him. He yawned but stayed awake long enough to repeat the favor. After all. He didn’t want his beloved to suffer because he was too tired to do his duty. 

“Mmm. You too. Sleep. Go to it. No nightmares. Order,” he muttered, words slurring, but not impossible to make out. Arthur hummed in response, but Merlin had no idea if he said anything more. 

He was out like a light. 

Held by the man he loved more than life itself. 

It was good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *means “Hear me Goddesses and hear me well. Save his life or this world will perish. You will save his life, or all life will end.” In Welsh, according to Google. Basically, it’s a threat. I know I invoke the name of God a lot in this fic, but Merlin is still a creature of the Old Religion, and I finally got to the point of the show, when writing this chapter, that dealt with the goddesses and all that. So, yeah. Sorry.
> 
> So! Hope this all made sense, but who knows, ha. Thanks for the comments last chapter, I appreciated them. :-)


	38. Your Love Has Shown Me Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _~~~When the dragons grow too mighty_   
>  _To slay with pen or sword._   
>  _I grow weary of the battle,_   
>  _And the storm I walk toward._
> 
> _When all around is madness,_  
>  _And there's no safe port in view._  
>  _I long to turn my path homeward,_  
>  _To stop a while with you~~~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end has arrived!!! :-D 
> 
> Y'all, I never expected that it would take me so long to post this whole thing, oof. But we're here!!! And I am sorry that I won't be writing the last chapter and epilogue, but I hope that this chapter ends... decently? And if not, and there are questions left, please let me know! And maybe... maybe I might be able to write a quick end chapter to this story, just a small little thing. It prolly won't be very good since I don't remember much about the details of this story, but if people really would like it, I might be able to do something. Maybe. 
> 
> Anyway!! Thank you all so, so much for your kind words. It really has helped me a lot. And while I still can't say I love this story, I am proud of it, in some ways. So thank you all for hanging around so long, and for dealing with my nonsense, ha. 
> 
> The chapter title comes from the song Madrigal, by Rush. Rush is one of my favorite bands, and this is a pretty good song. Another band I like (Ninja Sex Party/NSP) has a good cover of it if anyone wants to listen. :-) 
> 
> Enjoy!

Being back in the castle, after all that had happened, felt insanely weird to Arthur. Like he was doing something wrong, standing in these halls that once were so familiar, but were now foreign and strange. 

Maybe, he mused, touching the crown on his head, it was because he was the prince, now. 

Arthur didn’t know how he felt about that, to be honest. It wasn’t how things were supposed to be. In the week since the battle, where he’d almost died, and then thought he’d lost his beloved, things had been so strange. 

After his- well-earned, he felt- nap, he’d been rudely awoken by his father had returned from his talks with his uncles, waking Arthur by accident when he let out a strangled sound. Merlin had still been asleep, so Arthur had carefully gotten out of the cot and had approached his father, no idea where he stood with the older man. 

His father had looked awkward, Arthur recalled. Halfway between angry, confused, disgusted, afraid, and a lot of other emotions that Arthur just summed up into ‘awkward’ to save time. They had just stared at one another for long seconds, before Uther had sighed, shaking his head. They were still in the broken red tent, Arthur steadfastly refusing to be apart from Merlin, so they had to keep their voices down. Merlin had exhausted himself. While Arthur still felt weak from the bitter magic that had attacked everything within him, he was doing… okay. Not good, not bad. Just okay. He’d get better, though. Merlin had seen to that. 

“So. You. And the… _sorcerer_ ,” his father had spat, Arthur scowling, both at the vitriol in the man’s voice, and the fact he hadn’t bothered to keep his voice down, the bastard. 

“Keep your voice down, Merlin is sleeping. And what about us?” Arthur hissed, though his heart had begun so beat so fast it likely wasn’t healthy. He couldn’t help it. For years he had denied this part of himself, the part that liked men just as much (if not more so, if he was being honest) as women, all because of the fear of what the man in front of him would think. He still remembered the way he would talk to Gwaine when they were children, sneering about the dalliances his friend would have with other men, unashamed. He was shamed, now, remembering the masked hurt on the rugged face, Gwaine shrugging and saying it felt good, so why deny himself? Arthur hadn’t understood. Not then. 

It didn’t matter as much, now. He’d come to terms with his sexuality over a year ago, accepting his love for Merlin soon after. Merlin was the world to him, always would be. He’d adore the man until the end of time, that much he knew. Even as his father stared at him with that unreadable expression, Arthur knew it didn’t matter. What his father thought… it didn’t matter. 

In fact, part of him was kind of miffed (actually, was fully pissed off) that the first thing the man said to him wasn’t ‘oh, my dearest and darlingest son, please oh please forgive me for almost _killing you_ , despite your insistence that my action would, in fact, lead to that outcome! Whatever can I do to have you forgive me, my dearest son?’

No. It was an admonishment for the one thing Arthur had going for him in life. Thanks ever so, father dear. 

Uther just stared at him, his jaw working as he clearly fought to find the right words to say. Arthur had said nothing, not feeling particularly inclined to be kind to his would-be murderer (yes, Arthur was being uncharitable. His father couldn’t have truly expected that he’d actually die. But that didn’t excuse how he had refused to listen and, as such, had led to his almost death. So, it was his right to be pissed, thanks). Let him struggle, Arthur had thought, growing more annoyed with each second that passed that he wasn’t holding Merlin in his arms. 

“You truly trust him, then? No enchantments?”

Arthur had wanted to scream, then, and would have if Merlin hadn’t been asleep. He had settled for glowering at his father, before turning his back to the man and walking back to Merlin. Part of him had wanted to say nothing, let his silence be answer, but he had a feeling his father wouldn’t have accepted that. Pity. 

“I trust him more than I have ever trusted anyone. I don’t know much about magic, not really. It’s a part of me, I know that, but I can’t perform it. There so much about magic that is foreign to me, unknown. What I do know, however, is that magic is only skin deep. It cannot penetrate into the deepest parts of your soul. Not truly.”

Arthur had paused, then, and looked down at Merlin, who was snuffling softly, like he always did. He couldn’t help the fond smile as he tenderly brushed back the dark bangs, which were a mess, like always. God, how he adored that man. 

“What I feel for Merlin is deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before. No enchantment can be this strong. This all-encompassing. I don’t expect you to understand. But he is more than the man I love,” Arthur had wavered here, the age-old fear filling him at what he was confessing. What he was revealing. But… but, he had thought, smile impossibly soft as he looked upon Merlin, sleeping soundly, it didn’t matter. He continued. “He is the hope for Camelot. I trust you know of the Prophecy? I’ve mentioned it before.”

Uther had hesitated, then, but had nodded slowly. 

“Yes. Of course, I know of it.”

Arthur had waited a second for more words to come, but it was obvious his father had finished speaking. Arthur had even looked over at the man, who was scowling down at the sleeping former prince. Arthur had hated the look. Uther wasn’t allowed to see Merlin like this, all soft and gentle in sleep. It wasn’t right. It may have been for that reason that Arthur answered a bit more forcefully than he might otherwise have. 

“Well, as I said, it’s real. And it’s about him. And me. I’m the Once and Future King, or whatever, and he’s the warlock. We’re both destined for the crown, me through prophecy, him through birth. Together, he and I will reunite Albion into one, United Kingdom. We will usher in a time of peace and prosperity. Merlin wants that, father. And I do, too. I know you don’t trust magic. I had my doubts too, before Merlin. I just ask...” Arthur had paused again, voice softening as he sighed, “please, give him a chance. You are my father. I don’t want to hate you. You already almost killed me. Don’t make this worse.”

Uther had flinched at that, face red, with embarrassment or anger, Arthur hadn’t known. Before the man did anything rash, he’d visibly steeled himself, sighing and shaking his head. 

“And how do you propose to rule together, then?” Uther demanded, eyes hard. Arthur smirked, hand absentmindedly reaching up to grasp the signet ring he still wore. Merlin had said that he could enlarge the ring to fit Arthur’s finger once they married. Arthur liked the idea of that.

“Well, we had figured through the traditional means,” Arthur had shrugged, doing his best to keep his tone light, trying hard to not let the anxiety he felt flood him show through. Uther had hummed, a sneer in his lips. It didn’t look purposeful. Arthur didn’t know if it was better or worse than if it had been. 

“And you think the people will just accept this, Arthur? I never took you for a fool.”

Arthur jaw had clenched, shaking his head as it was his turn to scowl. The more he spoke with his father, the more he grew to detest the man. It depressed him greatly. 

“People will have no choice. And besides, it’s the best option. I represent non-magical people, having their best interests in mind, their hopes and desires. Merlin represents magic incarnate, powerful and just. Our union would mark the union of magic and might, bound together at last. It would bring peace to the land, showing that magic users and non-magic users can coexist peacefully. I know… I know homosexuality is not often condoned, but neither is it publicly condemned. There are no current laws banning it. And I’m sure people will see it as the political advantage it is. I don’t know much of nobility, mother not wishing to be reminded of what she’d lost, but I know enough that marriage often isn’t for love, but for political gain. Well, this can be both.”

Arthur had finished speaking, shuffling only slightly in his discomfort. Merlin and him had talked about it, of course, they had. If the politics weren’t involved, Arthur was sure their relationship would have progressed much slower, given the time to build naturally. But they didn’t have such a luxury. Not really. 

But… well, that had raised a question in Arthur’s mind. One he still pondered, a week later. Technically speaking, his father was still king. And, not that Arthur would have ever admitted it, even on pain of death, but he’d always assumed that, well… if they were to assume the crown, his father would have been, well…

_Out of the picture_.

And he hated himself for having assumed that. But he’d seen his father. He’d never expected that the man would have ever changed his ways. Would ever back down from the plan he’d spent twenty some odd years planning. Even now, he was terrified that this peace was short lived. That his father hadn’t changed his ways, that he had another trick up his sleeve. Yes, they had destroyed the chalice, but his father was still king. 

Which was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? 

He and Merlin couldn’t be joint kings if his father still held the crown. And unless Uther abdicated, they’d have to wait for the man to die before having a rightful claim. Uther had killed the previous king, fair and square. According to the laws and customs of Camelot, he was rightful king. Merlin could challenge him to single combat, as was his right as former crown prince, but doing so would mean his father would have to die. And as much as he was disappointed in the man… as angry as he was…

He didn’t hate him. 

And he sure as hell didn’t want him to die. 

So where did they go from there? From the present they were into the future he and Merlin had envisioned? War had not been what he’d thought it would be (and he was trying desperately to not remember the boy, his hands still stinging with the red hot blood he was sure was still there, his nails scratching at the skin until it was raw), and he had no idea what the future held. His father had almost killed him. His father (he would later learn, Merlin whispering the words to him, Arthur’s head swimming) had given up his twenty-year plan, to subsequently save him, trusting a warlock in the process. His father was king, and he was… well, Prince, he supposed. How the turns tabled. 

“You truly love him, don’t you?” A musing voice had asked, pulling him from his thoughts. Arthur could not read the expression on his father’s face. Truly, this time. It was a complete mask, with the most peculiar look he’d ever seen on any man’s face. Arthur couldn’t even begin to compare it. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. For that reason, he had felt his heart speed up as his palms began to sweat. Arthur could only nod, sharp, as he looked back at Merlin. Despite himself, he felt his body relax as he stared at his love. He didn’t care who was watching him in that moment. He absentmindedly grabbed his ring again. He’d been doing that a lot lately, when lost in thought. Gwaine had teased him about it, when the man saw, but Arthur knew he was happy for him, truly. 

His father sighed, shaking his head. Arthur didn’t turn to look at him, just stared at Merlin and saw his father in his periphery. 

“I don’t approve, Arthur. But… I suppose that doesn’t matter, does it? You trust him. I fear I never will. But I suppose you are right about one thing. A union between you and him would unite Camelot. But Arthur. Just because you trust him does not mean that magic is not evil. You’ve seen what sorcerers have done to our people, what’s to stop them from trying to harm us again?”

Arthur had thought of that. He’d pondered it for hours and hours, ever since he’d realized he loved Merlin and the magic he utilized. Carefully, Arthur formulated his words. 

“Magic isn’t evil, father. It’s… it’s like a sword. In the hands of an expert, it can be a thing of beauty. But, give it to the wrong person, it can do deadly harm. Give it to an evil person, and it can take hundreds of lives. But the sword itself is not evil. It is a tool, a thing that can bring about death, or freedom, depending on who wields it. Merlin and I can create laws. Rules, limiting the use of magic for evil. For harm. Same as we can limit the use of swords and weapons, without outright banning it. And yes, some people will resist. People always resist change. And some people will use magic for evil, to harm others. But it’s a minority. If we create a fair and just land for all, peace will prosper. I guarantee it, father. I swear.”

Uther had stared at him for a long minute, before nodding minutely. He was wearing his crown again, making him look regal. 

“Very well. You should get some rest, my son. My apologies for waking you. I can have another cot brought in, a bedroll-“

“That won’t be necessary, father. Thank you.”

Uther had a look like he’d bitten a lemon, but just nodded before exiting the tent. 

Arthur had lied back down with Merlin after that but hadn’t slept. They’d both woken for a small dinner a short time later, before falling asleep, tangled together. The next day, his father had declared they would all head back to Camelot together, the prisoners being released on the condition that they don’t fight. Arthur and his uncles had informed their remaining men and women that they were negotiating a deal, so it would be best to do as the king said. None of them knew that the spell that prevented magic had broken, so the sorcerers just accepted it, without complaint. 

Arthur had been relieved to find that none of his friends had been killed. Pellinore had been badly wounded, and was still in and out of consciousness, but everyone else had only sustained minor to moderate injuries. Lance had a cool scar on his cheek now, which Gwen fussed over, but Arthur knew it would make the man look more rugged. 

Arthur had been most relieved to know that Gwaine had made it out alright. He hadn’t even been injured, as he had stayed with the archers, Percy practically sitting on him to prevent him from running into the fray. Arthur had smiled gratefully at the larger man, who just shrugged. 

“Gwaine may be an annoying arse, but I wasn’t about to let him die in battle.”

Gwaine had rolled his eyes, lifting his hand in an obscene gesture. They all had laughed, but talk shifted to a lighter topic, away from battle and war. 

It had been when they’d arrived at the castle, a day later, that things got really… well, interesting. 

For one, standing, at the gate that welcomed the army home, was his mother, head held high while wearing the richest clothes he’d ever seen on the woman. Where she’d gotten such an outfit, Arthur had no idea at the time, but he’d laughed and ran up to her, grabbing her and spinning her around. She’d laughed in return, shaking her head at his antics. He knew he was acting like a fool in front of an entire army, but he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t realized how worried he’d been for his mother until that moment. If she’d been caught, if she was alright, etc. 

“Are you okay?” He’d asked, worry filling his eyes as he looked her over, checking for any injury or hurt. She’d just tsked, nodding swiftly. 

“I am fine, my love. We hadn’t been caught, but when I heard the news, I made my presence known. Many of the high-ranking officials your father had appointed were old friends of ours, them remembering me in an instant. I figured it might be best to greet the returning army. How are you, my love?”

Arthur hadn’t had the chance to say anything, as there had been a strangled sound behind him, making him turn to look in concern. 

Standing, not ten paces behind him, was his father. His father, who had the widest eyes, looking at his mother like he was seeing a ghost. His mother stared back, face a mask, but Arthur could feel the tension in her body. Arthur had stepped back, smirking slightly. He may have problems with his father, but he knew how desperately his mother loved the man. 

Their reunion had to wait as the injured were brought into the castle, though his father did not take his eyes off his mother the entire time. Ygraine had just stared calmly back, letting none of her inner thoughts get revealed on her face. Arthur had to hand it to her; she had an excellent poker face. 

His father and mother disappeared soon after the army entered the city proper, heading off to talk, Arthur assumed. Gwaine had grinned an evil grin, however, and muttered what he was _sure_ they were truly doing. Before Arthur had the chance to wallop the idiot, Merlin had whapped him on the head (lightly, mores the pity) with his staff. Gwaine had pouted for a second, before sniffing. 

“Not my fault you all are afraid of the truth.”

“They’re my parents, Gwaine,” Arthur had rejoined, teeth gritted as his nose wrinkled. “Don’t be disgusting.”

Gwaine had then looked mournful for a second, though his eyes were twinkling, which had made Arthur despair of whatever nonsense he was about to spew.

“Ah, how heartbroken I am, for the lovely Lady Ygraine to be taken off the market. Years of courting, squandered. How I shall miss my love, my dearest-“

“Gwaine, if you value your life, you will stop talking. _Now_ ,” Arthur had hissed grimacing at the mental image his friend had inspired. Arthur knew the man was joking (at least... he was 90% positive he was joking… alright, 75%… well…) but he truly was not in the mood. Gwaine just laughed, grinning his roguish grin. Arthur had smiled begrudgingly back, before heading into the castle himself. He had no idea if he was relieved to be back or not. 

Arthur hadn’t told his friends how close to death he’d gotten, just shrugged when asked what happened, though he knew he’d eventually have to. They were already worried enough, Gwaine especially, a tension in his eyes that went against the easy tone of his voice. Arthur knew the man had killed during the battle. Gwaine had killed before, bandits and the like, but he’d never taken pleasure in it. He didn’t know if any of his other friends had taken lives, but by the empty look in Lance’s and Elyan’s eyes, he wouldn’t doubt it. 

The following days had been a whirlwind. Arthur had been instructed a couple days prior, about two after arriving at the castle, that he was to be officially crowned prince, his father watching the ceremony with critical eyes. Gaius had been there, smiling encouragingly at Arthur. Merlin hadn’t been. It had been decided that it was best if the former prince was not at the current prince’s coronation. 

Besides, Merlin spent most of his time, when he wasn’t glued to Arthur’s side, with Freya. It made Arthur smile to remember their reunion, how Merlin had cried when he’d put his arms around the frailer girl, Freya clinging tightly back. Arthur could see how shaken she was about the whole thing, but she’d been over the moon to learn about their, tentative, betrothal plans. Things had been put on hold since he’d been crowned prince, neither Merlin nor Arthur certain how to go about things now that they were alive, but so was Uther. 

The nights had been good, though. Better than good. They both were staying in Merlin’s old rooms, which technically were Arthur’s now, but he’d changed almost nothing about them, other than having added a new wardrobe for his things. He still wore his peasant clothes, though his father had had him fitted for richer wear. All in all, not much had changed about their interactions at night, Arthur still doing the menial labor, though Merlin would scoff at him about it. 

“You’re the prince, Arthur,” Merlin would drawl, rolling his eyes. “Princes don’t scrub floors or clean out chamber pots.”

Arthur had scowled back, though he had a hint of mirth in his eyes. 

“Well, maybe they should. Builds character.”

Merlin had just rolled his eyes again but smiled fondly at him. Arthur was sure he’d get out of the habit of doing his own chores eventually, but for the moment, it was nice. Comforting. A stable thing in an unsteady world. 

Sleeping beside Merlin was the best part of the day, in his mind. They still hadn’t gone all the way, Merlin’s magical exhaustion still evident in how he’d take just a little too long to catch his breath after an intense snogging session. But that was fine. Arthur knew he was ready, now. Once Merlin was one hundred percent better, well… Arthur couldn’t help the wicked grin on his face. 

So things were good. Not perfect. Not great. But good. Stable. They were in a period of uncertainty, Uther still king, Ygraine refusing the crown but agreeing to remarry Uther (since their old marriage records had been destroyed to protect them, along with Kilgharrah’s memory spell), and Arthur the prince with Merlin by his side. What would happen next, Arthur had no idea. But he was sure something would happen soon. 

As he stood, in a random corridor in the castle, staring at the courtyard below, he wondered what that ‘something’ would be. If it would be good or not. He hoped so. He was so tired of conflict in his life. 

Arthur was drawn from his thoughts, however, when he heard a humming sound come from behind him before warm arms wrapping tightly around his waist as a chest pressed against his back. Arthur didn’t start, as he knew those arms intimately. He just relaxed into the embrace. 

“What are you thinking about, my love?” He heard a voice muse in his ear. Arthur hummed, shaking his head, making the crown shift dangerously. He fixed it with a scowl. Merlin laughed softly at the look, kissing his cheek tenderly. 

“Just thinking,” Arthur hummed, putting his hands atop of Merlin’s, linking their fingers deftly. The best part of the entire thing was how free he could be with Merlin. While they had never declared anything officially, the entire castle seemed to know that they were courting. They got some disgusted looks thrown their way, but for the most part their relationship seemed to be accepted. Arthur was glad. He didn’t want to have to hide this. Not from anyone. They were in uncharted territory now, but he’d be damned if he let Merlin and him be shamed for their love. They’d faced more than enough adversity to enjoy their lives together now. 

“You, thinking? Now I’m really worried,” Merlin joked, causing Arthur to scoff again. He spun in the arms, crossing his own as he pouted, glaring at Merlin. Merlin just laughed, smirking. The man then leaned forward to kiss the pout away. Arthur wanted to hold out, to keep his pretense of offense, but he couldn’t. Not when Merlin was kissing him so sweetly, his lips warm and supple, his hands drifting up and down his sides with feather light touches. Arthur held out for only a split second before giving in, holding on to Merlin like his life depended on it. And, honestly? Maybe it did. 

“Piss off,” he muttered, swallowing Merlin’s laugh with his lips. Hm. Turns out the only thing better than hearing Merlin’s laugh was hearing it smothered against his lips. 

“No. Seriously, Arthur. What’s wrong?” Merlin asked a moment later, pulling back and looking at him with mildly concerned eyes. Arthur just sighed, shaking his head again. He’d hoped the man had forgotten about his upset. But that would have been easy, huh? Arthur scowled as the crown tilted again, hating the damn thing so very much. Merlin saw and snickered, reaching up to fix it with hands that seemed very practiced at the motion. “Now you see why I always hated to wear the blasted thing. You’ll get used to it.”

“I shouldn’t have to get used to it,” he muttered, shaking his head. He sighed again as he remembered why he’d been feeling so discomforted lately. Well, might as well confess. “It’s your crown. Not mine. This whole thing just feels so… so _wrong_ , Merlin. We won, but we also lost, and now we’re somewhere stuck in between. It’s bizarre.”

Merlin hummed, shrugging his shoulders slightly. He didn’t seem too troubled, but Arthur could see a hint of tension in his blue eyes. 

“It seems a bit anticlimactic, I suppose. After everything that happened the past few months, to just be here and not be constantly on edge… I have no idea what your father is planning. Your mother doesn’t seem concerned, the few times I saw her, so hopefully she’s working on it. Maybe… maybe we’ll be able to have some time before the crown gets passed to us, after all. I don’t mean to offend, but while I don’t trust your father, I do trust your mother, and your uncles. They’ll make sure things work out. I’m sure of it.”

Arthur looked at Merlin, scrutinizing to make sure he meant his words, before he hummed in response, nodding absently. He’d been thinking similar things. It just… god. It seemed so easy. After everything, for things to go so well at the moment… he was just waiting for the world to jump up and yell ‘AHA! Got ya!’ And for everything to go to shit again. 

“Would you be alright with that? Letting my father be king and me be prince for a while?”

Merlin tilted his head, a considering expression on his face. He then smiled, eyes flashing with mirth. 

“Honestly? I think it would be kind of fun, watching you handle the pressure of being prince while I get to laze about all day.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at that, scowling. Merlin just leaned forward and kissed him again, grinning like a mad man. Arthur allowed it for a second before pulling away. 

“You know, you can’t just kiss me every time I’m pissed off at you. It won’t work,” he warned, though his eyes were shining. Merlin grinned, leaning forward, and resting his head on Arthur’s chest, ear over his heart. It felt so domestic that Arthur almost wanted to cry, for some bizarre reason. 

“Maybe not. But I can try,” Merlin mumbled against his heart, a minute later. Arthur had nearly forgotten what he’d said to prompt the response, too busy running careful fingers through his betrothed’s hair. Arthur would have made a witty response, but he was too relaxed to even care. Instead, he chuckled, leaning down to kiss the top of Merlin’s hair with unbearable tenderness. Eugh. It was official. He was becoming a girl. 

But strangely…

Strangely, he didn’t mind so much. Huh. 

“Want to go down to the garden and have a stroll?” Arthur asked, nuzzling the top of Merlin’s head. Merlin hummed, looking up a little and nodding. 

“Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

With that, Merlin pulled away, smiling as he grabbed Arthur’s hand. Arthur smiled widely back, weaving their fingers together, with a heart that felt so full he wanted to cry. 

Things wouldn’t always be like this, he knew that. It was going to get difficult again, one way or another. This reprieve of peace was nice, but they couldn’t get used to it. Not fully. It wouldn’t last. 

They could, however, enjoy it while it lasted. And as he guided Merlin to the secluded arch in the garden, determined to make sure the only good memories Merlin had of the location were between the two of them, well. 

He was sure he’d never forget these days. 

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Merlin was nervous about whatever Uther was planning. 

And it was clear the king (and yes, that was an odd thought to think. Someone other than his own father, the king? Strange indeed) was planning something. It was noticeable in the way the man would look at Arthur and him sometimes, frowning, but not necessarily in anger or disgust. Oh, don’t get him wrong. Uther would often have a disgusted look in his eyes when he saw them walking the castle, holding hands, or whispering secrets to each other, but this look was different. It was a plotting look. Calculating. 

Two weeks had passed since the battle. Two weeks of, relative, peace. Merlin was trying so very hard to not let his guard down, to not let this reprieve trick him. He still had trouble with panic sometimes, when he’d hear the knights training (Arthur usually joining them, to get formal training for once) or would smell a particularly large bonfire. He’d yet to have a full-blown panic attack, but Merlin could feel it building within him. Gaius chastised him for using the cheering charm too much, saying that it was dangerous to do so. 

“Too much false emotion can harm you, my boy. You must be careful,” the older man had warned, though his eyes were sympathetic as he held Merlin’s shaking hands, his eyes filling with tears as he remembered the nauseating stench of the blood river. He was beyond grateful to have Gaius back, but unfortunately seeing him reminded Merlin of everything that had happened, of their break in to Camelot, of Gwaine’s subsequent severing, of the war and battle and… well, all of it, really. He’d almost had a panic attack, the first time he’d seen Gaius after everything, but had used the charm before it got too bad. But it wasn’t a full-time solution, Merlin knew. Emotional charms could only work for so long before your true emotions were buried indefinitely, and you couldn’t feel anything without the use of magic. 

But what else was he to do? Things were so good, so very good, but they also were strange and unstable and that made Merlin nervous. His magic was still, two weeks later, not back to where it had been. He tired so much easier than he used to. Arthur noticed, giving him space, helping him, but Merlin hated it. He _hated_ it. He felt like an invalid. Or a child. 

He longed to take Arthur to bed and claim him as his own. But any time he even thought about it, a wave of tiredness would hit him, making him stumble. It was frustrating and he wished it would stop. He wanted to live his life. Not be bound by his ridiculous body. 

He’d asked Gaius, a few days before, if he’d ever get better. Gaius had given him a soft, sympathetic, almost _pitying_ look. 

“You used up a lot of your power, Merlin. It might take weeks, even months before it fully returns. Magic doesn’t like to be expended so much. You’re lucky to be alive. Let your magic return gradually, or else it may never fully return.”

That had scared him. The ‘never fully return’ part. It was what made him the most nervous, late at night, puttering around his rooms (well… Arthur’s rooms. And yes, that was strange, having Arthur be the prince, but it was also… relieving. He’d always known Arthur would be amazing at it, better than him at any rate. The people adored Arthur, and with good reason). He’d wonder what he’d do if he never actually got better. He could feel most of his magic, but it was weaker. By a lot. It terrified him. He’d always been the best warlock in Albion. Who was he if not that?

It left him on edge. And the fact that Uther was clearly hiding something…

Merlin was currently sat in the training pitch, watching as Arthur trained with his fellow knights. Arthur had been officially knighted several days before, after he’d been crowned prince. Merlin didn’t know why that was the order, but he trusted that there was a rhyme and reason to it. Probably. Merlin knew that it made Arthur ecstatic to be a knight, officially. He’d then knighted his own knights, his friends joining him in his rank. Gwaine was not quite as pleased as all the others, his view of knights more negative than the rest, but he did his best to be a capable knight. His wound had been looked over by Gaius and the residual pain was treated with the best medicine money could buy. While Gwaine would always have the scar, and some slight flare ups of pain, he’d be perfectly fine to ‘play knight,’ as he called it. 

He was watching as Arthur fought two of his friends at once, the man laughing as he parried their thrusts. Merlin adored it, being able to watch his love look so carefree. 

The remaining Mages that Merlin had trained were there, as well. So many of them had died during the siege that it hurt Merlin, who had been officially in charge of the Mages since he’d turned eighteen. They were his men, his people. That so many, more than half, had perished… it hurt him, deep inside. 

Arthur had insisted that the Mages train with the knights, saying that magic and might together would build a stronger army than any one alone. The king had resisted at first, but Merlin knew Ygraine had talked him into it. Merlin swore, he adored that woman. He never got to see her much, as she was busy reuniting with her long lost husband, but whenever he did she always smiled at him, and would occasionally give him this big hug, the kind Merlin always assumed mothers were born knowing how to give. It made his chest ache something fierce, but it was good. So good. 

Iseldir, who had been badly wounded but had mostly healed, was in charge of the Mages while Merlin rested (prince’s orders, he thought with a roll of the eyes). The man was not in top shape, but he was good enough to call out orders and overlook the training. Most of the Mages were learning swordplay now, however. Merlin wouldn’t admit it but it was kind of funny, watching the normally competent men flounder at the sight of a sword. He knew he’d been just as awful when he’d started learning swordplay, but it was still funny. 

Arthur had gotten better at teaching, too. He wasn’t in charge of the knights, Tristan doing that, but he did help his uncle when training the Mages. Something about him ‘having experience teaching snooty sorcerers how to use a sword.’ Merlin had glared when he’d heard that, but Arthur had just grinned, looking so carefree it was hard to stay angry. 

He loved watching Arthur as he trained. He looked so relaxed, so at home. He’d been destined to be a knight, Merlin could tell. He was just so… natural at it. So at home. It made his heart ache with love to see, his face surely awash in a dopey grin. 

As Merlin watched, Arthur laughing as Pellinore and Percy tried to defeat him to no avail, he felt so full it made him ache. Arthur always had been the best fighter of the bunch and he just looked so beautiful in his natural element. Merlin regretted how his father (and it was starting to hurt less, to think of the man. Merlin had even mumbled to Ygraine once, asking if she could talk to Uther about getting his father a tomb in the royal cemetery, to which Arthur’s mother had smiled and nodded, saying she would most definitely do so) had banned swordplay for so many years. He wondered how incredible Arthur would be if he’d been allowed to foster his talents all this time. Though it would be hard for him to be any better than he currently was, Merlin privately felt. 

However, the mood shifted as Arthur looked up and noticed something, his smiling face fading as a serious one overtook it. Merlin frowned and looked in the direction Arthur was looking, heart sinking when he saw Uther (King Uther, he supposed he should call him) stride towards his son, a beyond serious look on his face. Merlin stood carefully, approaching Arthur. He stopped a few feet away, close enough that Arthur knew he was there, but not too close as to truly interfere. While he didn’t trust Uther, not one bit, he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. If only for the sake of Arthur and Ygraine. 

“Arthur. Might I have a word, alone? There is important business to discus,” Uther claimed when he arrived, looking briefly at Merlin. Merlin was sure he’d imagined it, but he could have sworn Uther nodded at him slightly, without a sneer too. Huh. 

Arthur darted his eyes to Merlin, an eyebrow raised in question. Merlin just shrugged. He had no idea. Arthur looked back to his father, shrugging as well. 

“I’m in the middle of training. Can it wait?”

Uther shook his head, frowning. 

“No. This is of pressing urgency. You can return when we’re done if you have time.”

That had concerned Merlin. Arthur too, he could tell, though the man pushed it aside and nodded. He sheathed his sword and nodded at his father, indicating he should lead on. Uther did so, the pair marching up with heads held high, Arthur looking back at Merlin with a frown. Merlin wondered what it was that was so important that Uther, himself, had felt he needed to come and get Arthur, rather than sending a proxy in his stead. 

He’d have to wonder for some time, he’d come to learn. Hours passed before he saw Arthur again, growing slowly more and more concerned as the minutes ticked by. He was pacing their shared rooms as their dinner slowly cooled when Arthur entered, eyes wide and hands shaking slightly. 

Merlin instantly stood and made his way over to Arthur, concern filling him in a second. 

“What happened? What did Uther say?” Merlin heard himself growl, his eyes narrow as he looked over his beloved. He didn’t think Uther would physically harm Arthur, but what did he know, really, about the other man? Arthur, however, just shook his head, heading over to the settee and taking a seat, eyes still dazed. Merlin followed, feeling his concern mount. 

Several moments passed, Arthur clearly trying to process something, before Merlin tried again. 

“Arthur? Are you okay? What happened?”

Arthur jolted, his shoulder bumping into Merlin’s lightly by accident. Damn it. Fucking, shit. Merlin knew he shouldn’t have gotten comfortable. Nothing lasted forever, especially not things as good as this. Merlin waited with bated breath as Arthur steeled himself up enough to speak. 

“My father… in order to further negotiations between magical and nonmagical people, my father has declared that he will be offering my hand in marriage, as a peace offering to the sorcerers who are angered by my father’s rule,” Arthur claimed, haltingly. He paused, eyes wide as he looked at Merlin. Merlin had stopped listening, though, his heart frozen with the words he’d heard. He sprang up, fury in his eyes as he began to pace, scowling bitterly. He’d heard enough. Oh, that utter bastard. 

“That bastard! How dare he?! He knows what we are to each other, he knows how we feel! How the fuck can he do something like this?! Oh, I won’t let him do this, Arthur, I swear. I’ll challenge him to single combat myself, using a sword if I must, I swear,” Merlin burst out, almost seeing red with his anger. And to think, he’d thought Uther was beginning to understand! Maybe even accept! Ha! While _the king_ had never outright said anything against it, Merlin knew he disapproved. Knew it in how he’d glare at him, the few times they were in the same vicinity. Of _course_ , he’d do something like this. Of fucking _course_. 

“Merlin. Merlin! Calm down, darling, please. Listen, you’ve got to let me finish!” Arthur shouted, reaching out and grabbing him, halting his furious pacing. Merlin looked at Arthur, expecting to see worry or anger in his eyes. Instead, all he saw was…

Barely restrained happiness? 

Wait. What? Before he could stop it, hurt began to blossom in his chest, his heart aching as he thought through the implications. Why was Arthur not furious about this? His father was going to offer his hand in marriage to some, some… _woman_ , to take Arthur away from him! Why was Arthur not angry, too? 

“W-why aren’t you angry, Arthur? He’s trying to split us up. I-I knew, I fucking _knew_ he’d try something like this. He’d never accept you and me, together. Why… why aren’t you upset?”

Arthur’s face crumbled at his hurried words. Merlin tried to keep the hurt out of them, but it was impossible. He didn’t understand. He could only watch, throat thick, as Arthur shook his head rapidly. 

“No, Merlin. You don’t understand. I never told you _who_ my father is planning on giving my hand to,” Arthur explained, words hurried, excitement coming back into his eyes. Well, why would it matter? After all, it’s not like… Merlin paused, swallowing thickly. He tried not to, but a shot of hope struck his chest. But it was ridiculous. Uther would never… yeah, Ygraine and Arthur’s uncles were taking with him, but Uther would never agree to… he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. 

Right?

“Who?” Merlin rasped, searching Arthur’s face desperately. He was trying so hard to push the hope down, to not let them get dashed when (and yes, it was when, it had to be) Arthur unintentionally crushed them. But Arthur just smiled, the dazed look from earlier faded until all Merlin could see was love, love, _love_.

“You, Merlin,” Arthur breathed, grin so wide Merlin was sure it would hurt. It was Merlin’s turn to be dazed, sure he’d misheard. Arthur laughed, shaking his head as he looked up to the ceiling, looking so impossibly happy that Merlin could barely look at him without being blinded. Like the sun. “H-he said that he’d thought about what we’d said, about our plan to get married. I-I told him about that, while you slept after the battle. He told me it was a good idea, that it would unite magic and non-magic peoples, giving both sides a prince- and later king- to follow. He also said that, if it was his choice to have us marry, then any naysayers against us would be angry at him, not us. After all, we can’t deny an order from the king, yeah? And even if we act loving here, in the castle, most people wouldn’t see that. So, it would work. H-he doesn’t understand why we feel this way, he told me. Doesn’t understand why I love a man. But he accepts that it is a good political match, and if it makes me happy, well. He’d allow it.” 

Merlin was sure the world had ended. That he’d died and gone to some bizarre heaven, where he was actually given permission, by one Uther Pendragon, to marry his son. Hell, not even permission. It was a fucking _order_ , a political marriage for the betterment of the entire fucking _kingdom_. One where the decision wouldn’t reflect poorly on them, to boot. It was insane. Much too good to be true. After a moment, Merlin shook his head and laughed, too dazed to do anything else. 

“You’re being serious, right? Uther said this? Your father, who hates me?”

He knew it was kind of dumb to ask, but he had to be certain. Arthur just grinned, eyes shining with joy as he lifted a hand to stroke Merlin’s cheek. Merlin leaned into the touch, practically purring. Great Goddess above, did he enjoy the man’s touch. 

“I don’t think he hates you, Merlin,” Arthur chided, though he gave a little wince at Merlin’s unimpressed glare, shrugging. “Well. Not anymore. He’s just confused by our relationship. He’d always figured I’d hate you. He knew, apparently, that I was your servant. That had spurred him into implementing his plan when he did. But I think he genuinely is trying. He and mum are spending a lot of time together, most definitely doing things that wouldn’t make me want to wash my brain out with boiling water to think about, and I think her influence is helping him adjust. He’d not perfect, I know. But, god, Merlin. He’s actually _trying_. That has to mean something, yeah?”

Merlin couldn’t help but nod, not wanting to counter Arthur when he looked and sounded so goddamn hopeful. And Merlin understood. Truly, he did. He was just having a hard time processing it all. How could Uther be so accommodating after years of hating all magic and magic users? It didn’t make sense to him, and things that didn’t make sense were dangerous, in his book. 

Perhaps he truly did see the political benefit of it all. Or maybe he valued his son’s happiness more than Merlin had given him credit for. Or maybe it was a trick, the king having some kind of plan up his sleeve. What could Merlin do about it, either way? What could he do to argue? It was what he had always wanted, after all. 

“You don’t trust it, do you?”

Arthur’s voice startled him, Merlin almost forgetting he was still there. He smiled weakly, shrugging. 

“Do you?”

Arthur looked contemplative at that, before nodding slowly. 

“Honestly? Yeah. I do. I don’t trust my father either, not fully. I want to, but… well, he did inadvertently try to kill me. But I do trust my mother, and my uncles. They wouldn’t let him do this if they doubted him. And, as I said. I do think he’s truly trying. He’s still yet to apologize for what he did, but mother told me that’s just how he always has been. He prefers actions to words. I think this is his apology.”

Arthur leaned forward and kissed him lightly, then, a feather light kiss that made Merlin’s toes curl with pleasure. Goddess above, he’d never get tired of such a sweet sensation. Merlin hummed against the warm lips and nodded. 

“Alright, Arthur,” he muttered. “Alright. If you trust this, then I will, too. It’s still too good to be true, and I don’t think I have it in me to fully believe in it. I can’t bear of through of it getting taken away, is all. But I’m hopeful. That this actually will work out, between us. I love you, Arthur, with all my heart and soul. What will be was what was always meant to be, I’m sure of it. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

“Together,” Arthur repeated, smiling. 

“Now,” Merlin continued, pulling back, and heading to the settee to sit. He had a feeling this following conversation would be best done seated. “Did he say when?”

Arthur grimaced, lightly, shrugging. 

“He said, if you were feeling up to it, the sooner the better. By week’s end, preferably. But we don’t have to, so soon!” Arthur assured, likely seeing the wide eyed, probably panicked look on Merlin’s face. Not that he was upset about marrying Arthur, god no! Just… well, he’d thought they’d have more time. Arthur continued, leaning forward to grab Merlin’s hand between his warm palms, smile impossibly sweet. “We can wait, however long you want. Don’t worry, Merlin, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want. I swear.”

Merlin understood what Arthur was saying, and he felt so touched at the words. But Merlin… huh. Merlin was realizing, as the moments passed and the thought sunk in, that it… well, that it wasn’t a bad idea. Why not get married by week’s end? They’d only been truly ‘together’ for a handful of months, all of them filled with heartache and strife. They’d practically begun their relationship with Merlin fearing Arthur had betrayed him, which was never the best start to a relationship, he felt. They’d not had any words for what they were to each other for weeks. Their relationship was far from a conventional one, that was for damn sure. But… but it _worked_. It wasn’t perfect, but it was perfectly them. Arthur and Merlin. Merlin and Arthur. The Once and Future King and his Warlock Prince. Bound together for all eternity, destined to love one another with all they had in them. 

Why not get married? They practically were, already. Merlin knew that they would have fights, that they’d make each other so angry, so blindingly enraged that they’d probably fancy themselves hating one another. But it wouldn’t last. Gaius had been right. When love was true, it always found a way. And their love? God was it true. 

There’d be bumps. There’d be strife. There likely would be heartache and sorrow aplenty. But as long as they were together, as long as they had each other, thick and thin? It would be worth it. 

And yes. It could be a trap. Uther might be playing a trick on them, to lower their guard. But he also might not be. He might be serious. And Merlin couldn’t live his life in fear, wondering if everything was a trap, and if everyone was out to get him. It wasn’t the life he wanted to live, at any rate. 

So, he’d trust, in Arthur if no one else. Like he always had. Arthur had never steered him wrong, yet. Not truly. After all, Morgana had never fully betrayed them, not Arthur. She’d done what she’d done out of the desire to do the right thing. And while he’d not truly forgiven her, not yet, he still cared for the girl and hoped that things worked out for her, her and Freya, who was finding it similarly hard to forgive. She would, of course. She and Morgana were in love. And you always forgave the person you loved, as long as their offense was not too great. 

Regardless of that, he knew he would be able to trust Arthur’s trust. He always had and always would. Arthur was his guiding light, his north star. He didn’t know what to believe anymore, but he truly believed in Arthur and his overwhelming Goodness. In his Righteousness. 

“No, Arthur,” he eventually said, his smile growing slowly, until it was a full on, nearly manic grin, his eyes shining with the love he felt. He grabbed Arthur’s other hand and held it tight, heart so full he was sure it was about to burst. “No. Week’s end is fine. Hell, week’s end is _perfect_. I’ve been in love with you from the moment I met you, shining and bright. You were the biggest prat, yes, but also the most stunning man I’d ever seen. I will follow you anywhere, Arthur. Marriage is nothing compared to what we already share. It’s just a formal acknowledgement of the love we have. That’s all. What does it matter, today, next week, a year? I don’t plan on ever leaving your side, never again, regardless. So, yeah. Week’s end is fine with me.”

Merlin knew he was babbling. Knew his words were coming out hurried and excited, jumbling together like a child’s puzzle. But his words were most definitely understood, as Arthur got the biggest, widest grin on his face that had to hurt like the devil, before the man surged forward and kissed him fiercely with all the love he had inside. Merlin couldn’t help his moan as he kissed back, hand clutching Arthur with everything he had in him. 

Things weren’t perfect. They would never _be_ perfect. But god, goddess, and Christ above, was he praying it would work out. That they’d find a way to make it work. 

And as he laid in bed that night, drawing absent pictures on Arthur’s bare skin, not quite going all the way, but getting close enough to leave them both breathless and panting, well. 

It was perfect to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! 
> 
> :-D I wish I had more to say, but my head is killing me, so I'll end here. If y'all do like my writing, I am posting a new story sometime soon, for Daganronpa, though I tried to write it in a way that people without prior knowledge of the game will be able to follow, since it is an AU. I'm just really proud of this fic, for once, which all of y'all should know is super rare for me, honestly. If not, then I hope all of y'all have a wonderful life and that good things happen to you this year! 2020 was rough, but we made it, y'all! And hopefully 2021 will be better! 
> 
> Fun fact, though: With all of the fics I've written since last April, when I started writing this story, I've written almost 1,000,000 words. And with the sequel to my Daganronpa fic, I will prolly be pushed over 1,000,000 by the start of April. I hadn't written 1,000,000 words in 8-9 YEARS of writing before this year. I barely had half a million. Welp. Guess Covid was good for my creative juices...??????
> 
> Anyway. Bye y'all! :-D


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